


One Hundred (Human) Years

by JesBelle



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Aging, Anxiety Disorder, Arranged Marriage, Depression, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Marriage, Narratively Expedient Space Magic, Other, Pon Farr, References to Genocide, References to mass murder, References to racism, Surgery, Telepathic Sex, Terminal Illnesses, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 01:20:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 128,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12158691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JesBelle/pseuds/JesBelle
Summary: An Emotional Mess makes a logical decision and a Man of Science follows his heart.  Everyone already knows about their Epic Adventures.  This is the stuff that happened in between.





	1. Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> All thanks and eternal gratitude to my beta readers – Seth, without whose feedback this would be an absolute mess. My sister, Amanda, who I made cry. And my husband, Patrick, who read this whole thing out loud to me. His McCoy impression is spot-on. His Spock ain’t half bad either.
> 
> This work is meant to be canon-compliant… mostly. In the interest of actually writing this thing (rather than “doing research” for the rest of my natural life), I decided that “canon” means all Prime Universe, live-action series or movies (except “Discovery,” since it wasn’t out until I finished writing and I probably won’t be able to watch it right away anyway).

Like most holy sites on Vulcan, one had to walk some distance to reach the monastery of K’lon. Unlike any of the others, that walk was through polar ice and snow. There was no reason for the walk other than to impress upon the walker a sense of the isolation of their destination. Ancient Vulcans must have been much easier to impress. Even at 137 years old, Spock found the hour’s exercise in the cold to be invigorating, if anything. He held his hand over the panel near the door, and shortly, one of the novices, a tall priestess, admitted him and led him to the office of K’lon’s Master.

“Master Vanok, Ambassador Spock has arrived.” 

“Spock,” said Vanok. “Of course, we were expecting you. May I offer you some spice tea?” He indicated a sideboard where the novice was already pouring two cups.

“Thank you, Master Vanok.” Spock took a cup and seated himself in one of the room’s few chairs. Vanok took his own cup and sat opposite Spock.

“You are dismissed, T’Sala.” The novice bowed and left.

“It is the custom here to offer some provision to those who have traveled to us,” said Vanok.

“I see,” replied Spock.

“I trust that your journey was uneventful.”

“Yes.”

“Many find the ice road challenging.”

“I reached K’lon at the appointed hour and encountered no difficulties along the way,” said Spock, wondering how much more of a difficulty Vanok was planning to be. Such inanities were mere politeness in some species, but they indicated obstructionism in a Vulcan, and he had already encountered enough impediments merely acquiring an appointment here.

“Yes, I assume that you have become inured to many climates and terrains in your travels off-world.”

“Indeed,” said Spock.

Having exhausted his observations on this topic, Vanok turned to the reason for Spock’s visit. “The document you seek is most obscure.”

“As are all of the works housed herein.”

“Of course, but in the entire history of this monastery, no one has requested this one.”

“Were you unable to locate it?”

“No, our archivists are quite thorough.”

Spock merely raised an eyebrow.

“It is a most irregular text,” said Vanok.

“It contains nothing that is forbidden.” All forbidden texts were kept at Mount Seleya.

“That is true, but I fail to see why any Vulcan would be interested in the ritual it describes.”

“You were interested enough to read it,” Spock pointed out.

“Merely out of intellectual curiosity.”

“Then you have no objection to my intellectual curiosity also being satisfied.”

“As I said, the text is most irregular. There can be no motivation to perform this ritual beyond the sentimental.”

“I have been studying this subject for some time. I have exhausted the archive at Mount Seleya, and I find that I cannot complete my research without also viewing the document in your keeping.”

Vanok considered this. “If the Masters of Mount Seleya have authorized you to pursue this matter, I can raise no objection,” conceded Vanok. He stood and walked to the intercom on his desk.

“T’Sala, attend me.”

The novice returned to the room.

“Take Spock to the reading room and give him the document he requested.”

“Yes, Master Vanok.” She bowed. “Ambassador Spock, if you will follow me?”

Spock stood, setting his teacup on the sideboard. He nodded slightly in Vanok’s direction. “Master Vanok, your assistance is noted.” He left the room with the novice.

The text turned out to be quite short. As he had expected, the ritual was simple, though clearly, it would be difficult and time-consuming to perform. Having memorized the document, he handed it to T’Sala, and thanked her for her effort.

Vanok had been correct to be suspicious. Spock fully intended to perform this ritual, and his reasons were entirely sentimental.

 

  

Spock arrived at his home near ShiKahr in the early afternoon. His aide, Tellek, was there to greet him. Both the home and the aide had been a part of Spock’s life since he had become a Federation ambassador.

The house was typical of Vulcan residential architecture – a low stone and thermal concrete structure the same color as the limestone hillside it was built into. Spock passed through the formal entry garden and into the large main room of the dwelling. The interior of the house was similarly buff and the furnishings were both sparse and spartan, but the walls and shelves held a profusion of artworks – paintings, sculptures, tapestries – the accumulation of over seventy years.

“We arrived an hour ago,” said Tellek. “Dr. McCoy is in the inner courtyard.”

“Thank you.” Spock handed his heavy black cloak to Tellek, revealing a sand-colored robe over a black tunic and trousers.

Spock passed through to the courtyard. Unlike the formal garden, this one was an abundance of as many flowering and green plants as he and Tellek (and some rather sophisticated environmental controls) could coax into thriving. Along the eastern wall was laid a long block of black stone that served as a bench. McCoy was seated there, his back against the southern wall where the block butted up to it, his legs stretched out along the length of the stone, ankles crossed. He was wearing Earth-style clothing – a dark brown suit and a sage-green shirt. He had removed his jacket and laid it at the far end of the bench. His eyes were closed against the sun, still high in the sky.

“Welcome home,” said Spock.

“Welcome home, yourself,” said McCoy, opening his eyes.

“I had meant to return before you.”

“We decided to leave early. I just wanted to come home.”

The bench was deep and McCoy was skinny, so there was plenty of room for Spock to sit facing him, one leg up on the seat. He leaned toward McCoy and tucked an errant strand of white hair back in with the rest. He offered McCoy his first two fingers, and, after a moment’s pause, McCoy rested his own fingers against Spock’s.

Their minds slid together along well-worn pathways. Spock saw what McCoy had hesitated to show him.

“Later,” said McCoy.

[ _petition, acceptance_ ]

“Later,” Spock agreed.

Their hands separated, but their minds remained touching.

“How was the monastery at the bottom of the world? Did you find what you were looking for?” asked McCoy.

“Yes, despite some minor irritations.”

“Well, do you think it will work, or is it just hocus-pocus?”

“Vulcan mysticism is hardly ‘hocus-pocus,’ Doctor, but to answer your question – anything of this nature does require a… leap of faith.”

“I think I can manage that,” said McCoy, smiling.

“The ritual is this – we would relive key parts of our lives together, anything that seems significant or representative of the whole. We would do this together, with our minds touching.”

“That seems simple enough.”

“Yes, but the text was adamant that we not neglect painful subjects. It will be difficult at times.”

“Most things worth doing are.”

“Are you certain, Leonard? That this is something you want?”

“It’s something you want. What I want is the pleasure of giving it to you.”

[ _petition, acceptance_ ]

“So,” said McCoy, “where do we begin?”

“At the beginning.”

“When I first met you and thought you were smug and insufferable?”

“When you first suggested that we begin a different kind of association.”

“When I still thought you were smug and insufferable.”

McCoy scooted down the bench a bit to allow Spock to sit with his back against the southern wall, then he settled his own back against Spock. Spock put his arms around McCoy.

“Tell me what you remember,” said Spock.

“I remember that you had a little problem, and that I had spent _way_ too long reading Vulcan erotica.”

  

***

 

When it came to Vulcan sex, McCoy had written the book. Well, he’d written the overview, anyway. Well, he’d taken the file that T’Pau had sent (mostly a confusing mish-mash of biology, religious ritual, Vulcan philosophy, and incomprehensible metaphors), and turned it into a report that Starfleet Medical could actually _use._

T’Pau had sent him the file months ago – a file containing many exciting and painstakingly calculated statistics about the increasing number of Vulcans serving on mixed-species Starfleet vessels. She clearly did not want a repetition of what had happened at Spock’s _pon farr_ ceremony. Diverted starships and nearly killed Starfleet officers were disruptive. Vulcans strongly disapproved of disruptive.

After many weeks of reading, McCoy managed to tease out a few salient facts –

  *   _Pon farr_ is a period, occurring roughly every seven years in adult Vulcans, marked by elevated body temperature, unstable cortical activity, wildly fluctuating serotonin levels, and elevated dopamine levels known as the _plak tow_ (blood fever). It is vital that medical personnel be familiar with these symptoms, since the Vulcan reluctance to discuss this matter, or to seek medical assistance cannot be overstated. (Tricorder settings appended.)
  * During the _plak tow_ , the affected Vulcan will experience an overwhelming urge to return to the Vulcan home-world and to either mate with a partner or fight for the right to do so. Failure to achieve one of these two objectives will lead to death. Older, more experienced Vulcans can survive the period of _pon farr_ without either sex or combat with the aid of meditation. This is dangerous and should be considered only as a last resort.
  * The onset of _pon farr_ typically occurs at around age thirty-five, when the Vulcan body and brain are fully developed.
  * Most Vulcans enter into arranged betrothals at the age of seven. A link is established between the potential spouses to synchronize their cycles. These arrangements almost always result in full marriage. Early betrothal has the effect of containing a destructive drive within the structure of Vulcan society by all but eliminating the probability of combat at _pon farr_.
  * It appears that the Vulcan pair bond is formed at _pon farr_ , and that the pair bond lasts for life. Vulcans recognize couples as being fully married only after they have undergone _pon farr_ together. Even a couple that was not previously betrothed will be legally married. Forming a temporary alliance for the purposes of alleviating the symptoms of the _plak tow_ is therefore a nonviable solution. (There are Vulcans who can provide emergency partnership during _pon farr_ without forming a pair bond, but they undergo rigorous training in order to achieve this.)
  * Vulcans mostly create procreative pairs because that is the most logical thing to do in a society marked by stagnant birth rates, but Vulcan sexuality is flexible. Mating with a partner of any gender will alleviate the _plak tow_.
  * Masturbation does not alleviate symptoms – probably because some version of a mind meld takes place between the partners.
  * Vulcans can enjoy sexual activity at any time. It has no effect on their cycles.



 

McCoy had sent these findings to Spock first, so that they could be double-checked.

_Your observations are correct._

_\- Spock._

 Unusually short and to the point.

But McCoy knew what conclusions Starfleet would draw – young Vulcans, particularly ones who have not undergone their first _pon farr_ , are not suitable for long-term, deep-space missions. The possibility that one could wreak havoc while under the influence of the _plak tow_ was too hazardous. They either needed to serve near Vulcan, or in mated pairs. And those were pretty much the exact recommendations that Starfleet had made.

Under these recommendations, Spock was ineligible to serve on the _Enterprise_.

Of course, they were just recommendations, not regulations. And Kirk had felt free to ignore the hell out of them. Which prompted Spock to request a reassignment, which Kirk refused. Kirk pointed out that Spock was a vital and irreplaceable member of the crew and that the current five-year mission would end well before Spock was “due for another _pon farr._ ” Spock pointed out that as a Vulcan-Human hybrid, no one could be absolutely sure when that would occur – it could be five years or fifteen; it could be five weeks.

McCoy broke the stalemate by agreeing to monitor Spock’s cortical activity carefully, and keep a stock of the drugs that, in his opinion, would help stabilize Spock should the worst-case scenario occur. It had been a deeply uncomfortable conversation all around.

But that was why McCoy was performing regular check-ups on Spock’s brain.

A month later, Spock’s cortical activity did become erratic – not wildly so, just enough to make McCoy _concerned_. McCoy was concerned for about two weeks before Spock’s brain activity returned to its normal state. Five weeks later, McCoy became concerned again, more so this time, because the part of Spock’s brain that enabled him to suppress his emotions appeared stressed and Spock was clearly experiencing some psychological distress. This time Spock’s cortical activity levels were erratic for ten days. Six weeks passed before the next aberrant cycle.

That cycle started two days before they reached Sarpeidon in the Beta Niobe system, but Spock’s cortical activity levels were fine when McCoy examined him upon their return from Sarpeidon. The cycle had only lasted three days. On Sarpeidon, Spock and McCoy had time-traveled to that planet’s ice age, Spock had strongly considered throttling McCoy, Spock had been intimate with a woman named Zarabeth, and Spock had then left that woman for McCoy’s sake. This led McCoy to conclude that either violence or sex had stabilized Spock’s brain.

Or maybe time travel did it. Who knew?

Spock was not just Vulcan; he was Human too. He was the oldest living Vulcan-Human hybrid. McCoy was flying half-blind with no exemplar whatsoever against which to measure Spock.

McCoy was not afraid to look a puzzle over from some unconventional angles. He’d had a lot of patients whose biology he could only guess at. He had learned, over the years, to examine every possible solution, no matter how crazy it seemed at first glance. But the best answer he had come up with for Spock’s problem was beyond unorthodox. He suspected that weeks of contemplating Vulcan mating habits had left his brains addled.

McCoy was not one to shy away from the fact that serving as a ship’s surgeon meant that the lines between his personal and professional lives would become blurred in ways that a civilian doctor should never allow. But this?

“It’s nutty,” he told the McCoy in the mirror as he shaved. “It’s just an excuse. You know that, right? You were looking for something to give you the gumption to do this, and now you have it. But don’t kid yourself, McCoy.”

He sighed at his reflection, at the messiness and complexity of the human psyche in general and his own psyche in particular. “Oh, go ahead and kid yourself, if it gives you the courage.”

McCoy had four weeks to ponder all of this into the ground before the next blip occurred.

 

  

“I’ve only tracked three of them,” he told Spock. They were sitting in McCoy’s office, on either side of the desk. “They seem to come a little over a month apart and last for a week and a half or two weeks. They’re obviously affecting your mood. You’re as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, Spock.”

“I don’t have moods, Doctor, and I suspect you are indulging in hyperbole.”

“Fine. You’re exhibiting symptoms of being ‘wound up’ that only those closest to you might notice if they were looking. It’s the same thing. And I’m worried that these episodes may do damage to your mesiofrontal cortex, if they haven’t already.”

“What is your recommended course of treatment?” Spock asked. He didn’t want to admit it, but these episodes _were_ disturbing to him.

“Well, the last time this happened, it went away after… your time with Zarabeth.”

“Traveling to the Sarpeidon ice age is no longer an option,” said Spock. “The library was obliterated when their sun went supernova.”

“I was there. What I meant is that these episodes may react to the same stimuli as the _plak tow._ You did attack me, and you did have sex. It’s reasonable to assume that one of those things did the trick.”

“I hardly think that attacking you or any other crew member would be appropriate.”

McCoy refrained from mentioning how many times Kirk had taken it upon himself to simply smack the logic back into Spock.

“You could try sex, then,” said McCoy. “Most rational beings find it more pleasant.”

“You have no proof that my... interactions with Zarabeth had any effect at all.”

“I have no proof of _anything_ with you, Spock. I have the same tools to deal with you that I always have – the same degrees in medicine and exobiology, the same gut instincts. It’s a hypothesis; we can only prove it if we test it.”

“And with whom would you suggest I conduct this experiment?”

“I think I would be an excellent candidate.”

“You?”

“Yes, me. Unless my gender is a barrier, I can’t think of anyone more suitable. There are regulations against fraternizing with the crew, and your position on the command staff puts most of the officers off-limits as well. I understand that telepathic contact is part of sex for Vulcans, making this an intensely private and intimate act, even more so than for Humans.

McCoy went on. “We’re already well-acquainted. We work well together. We respect and like each other. I enjoy your company, surprisingly. We argue… a bit… but we don’t let that stand in the way. I think I’ve proven that I can be trusted to protect your privacy. And I wouldn’t expect hearts and flowers and candy on Valentine’s Day.”

“You are proposing to enter into a… liaison with me in order to treat my condition?” asked Spock. “That seems like an excessive dedication to duty.”

“And I wouldn’t be offering only out of a sense of duty. I’ve been thinking about this for awhile. I do believe that it would alleviate your symptoms, but I would also enjoy the… companionship… and the sex. Look, I realize that this ain’t how Vulcans do things, but you tried the way Vulcans do things and it was pretty disastrous. It ain’t really the way Humans do things either, but the way Humans do things has not exactly been a resounding success for me.”

“You would find this mutually beneficial?”

“Yes.”

Spock stood up. “I will give it serious consideration.”

“You will?”

“Yes. You are not making this offer frivolously. I won’t treat it as such. You’ll have my answer in the morning, Doctor.”

 

  

The sound of the Vulcan lyre filled Spock’s quarters. He had been playing a particularly difficult Awakening-era song cycle for the last hour, in an attempt to clear his mind.

Dr. McCoy had just offered to begin a sexual liaison with him.

Spock had little doubt that the doctor’s “treatment” would have the desired effect. It was likely that just the mental contact that accompanied sexual congress would have the desired effect. The logical course would be to commence a regimen of simple mental contact with McCoy. It was true that these episodes were distressing to him, and McCoy was offering to help, offering shelter from the storm of his emotions.

McCoy had done more than make a kind, generous, and completely irrational offer, though. He had made a request. He had said that he wanted sex and companionship.

McCoy did not ask for things often. Almost never for himself. Even on Sarpeidon, McCoy had shown more concern for Spock’s well-being than his own.

McCoy had asked for sex and companionship from Spock. Over the years, others had made the same request of him, although not in those particular words. Setting aside his betrothal to T’Pring, he had refused these advances mainly because they came with other requests – “hearts and flowers and candy on Valentine’s Day.” Humans required far more emotional engagement than a Vulcan was capable of providing, in his experience. His mother had always seemed philosophical about his father’s unemotional nature, but he knew that it was often lonely for her, and he did not wish to be the cause of someone’s suffering.

But McCoy knew Spock – he harbored no romantic illusions. He had clearly spent time and effort crafting this proposition. McCoy wanted sex and companionship, and he was of the opinion that Spock could supply these adequately.

Could he? Much of his time was already spent in the company of either Kirk or McCoy or both, more than was considered fitting in Vulcan society, certainly. His relationships with McCoy and Kirk were already improper to the point that they would bring censure if it were known on his home world. It would seem that he was already providing companionship, and that he enjoyed the companionship he received in return. There was something both invigorating and reassuring about time spent with McCoy, even the time spent arguing (particularly the time spent arguing). He could not say that he wouldn’t enjoy more of it.

Spock next contemplated the idea of entering into a sexual relationship. As difficult as Spock found it to discuss sex, his attitude toward it was fairly neutral. He was aware that the crew engaged in the full spectrum of Human sexual activity. Starfleet made many items available for sexual expression – from medications and devices to prevent pregnancy or disease, to lubricants, media, and some basic “toys.” These had seemed to him to be perfectly logical accommodations to a basic Human drive. He had found the crew’s constant pairing (and more than pairing) and unpairing mildly interesting from a sociological standpoint.

He was not dismayed by his own sexual responses. He kept them suppressed most of the time, but occasionally indulged himself. The idea of eventually having a partner with whom to share such activities had occurred to him, although he had assumed that this partner would be a Vulcan woman. Like most Vulcans, gender was immaterial to him, and clearly he was capable of being attracted to Humans, so the question was – did he find McCoy sexually attractive?

Spock considered it. He did respond to physical beauty, sometimes quite strongly. McCoy was not objectively beautiful, but he was appealing, nonetheless. He was tall and slender. (Maybe a little too slender. Spock had been shocked to discover that human healers had a tendency to abuse their bodies. Eating and sleeping were both activities that McCoy often neglected to engage in adequately.) He was somewhat hirsute (and now that Spock considered it, he admitted that he found that rather attractive), and his eyes _were_ a most pleasing shade of blue.

But what made McCoy engaging was his character. He was kind, compassionate, positively fierce in his protectiveness of those in his care and those he cared about, sincere, and plainspoken. Spock found McCoy’s expressiveness appealing too. He caught himself wondering what McCoy’s face would reveal if he were feeling pleasure or passion.

Yes, Dr. McCoy was unequivocally attractive.

 

  

Spock showed up at the doctor’s office at 0600. McCoy wasn’t due for another two hours, but, unsurprisingly, he was there anyway. McCoy looked up from his reports.

“Spock.”

“I have decided to accept your offer.”

McCoy grinned. “I was sure you were going to say no.”

“The more I contemplated it, the more it became... appealing to me.”

McCoy chuckled softly. “Tonight then?”

“Yes. 1900 hours?”

“Sounds good. We’re having a medical staff meeting until 1830. That should leave me a little time. I like to spruce up a bit before a date.”

Spock lifted his eyebrows as if he might say something, then thought better of it and left.

McCoy tried to make headway on the reports for about twenty minutes before setting them aside. He was frankly flabbergasted that Spock had agreed to this.

When McCoy first came to the conclusion that Spock's problem could easily be solved (at least in the short term) with sex, he had drawn up what turned out to be an extremely short list of candidates:

Chapel -- She was still carrying a bit of a flame for Spock, and Spock liked her in his Spockish way, but she was far too romantic. The last thing McCoy needed was a weepy, distracted Chapel. She would agree to the scheme, but for all the wrong reasons. It would break her heart.

Uhura -- There was no denying that she and Spock had excellent rapport, mostly due to Uhura. The woman could make friends with a mugato if she put her mind to it. But she had put her mind to it because she had to work with Spock almost constantly. She had chosen the level of closeness she wanted with Spock long ago. McCoy had little doubt that, if she had wanted more, she would have wrangled it already.

Kirk -- Spock was probably closer to Kirk than he was to any other person in the universe. But McCoy had watched sentient beings of every gender throw themselves at Kirk for years. Kirk only caught them if they were humanoid and female.

McCoy -- He and Spock sniped at each other constantly. Spock seemed to think that McCoy was about as rational as a toddler and McCoy thought Spock was about as warm as a tricorder. But when push came to shove, they were always there for each other. This was no different. McCoy could relieve Spock's distress. He owed him that much.

McCoy had stopped rationalizing then. "You're lonesome, you idiot. You’ve been lonesome for a long time because you make stupid choices when you’re infatuated. So try this: You care about him, you trust him, and you're attracted to him. And what’s more, you’ve felt this way for a while now. You don't really need to know more than that."

And so McCoy had set about coming up with the most logical reasons possible why Spock should accept him as a lover, for Spock's sake. Even McCoy knew that they were a little flimsy, but they were the best he could do. Hopefully, maybe, Spock might have a few illogical reasons of his own to go along with it.

Now though, McCoy was faced with actually going through with this, and he realized that there was a whole component to it that he hadn't really thought much about. T’Pau’s file had mentioned a mental connection that Vulcans enjoyed during sex, but most of the discussion surrounding it was in the "incomprehensible metaphor" section. It had taken McCoy a while to realize that this was mostly due to the fact that language didn't work in these encounters. It was a sharing of images and sensations. Anything you wanted to say had to be shown. The more complex and abstract the concept, the more metaphorical the imagery used to convey it.

This explained some things about the one and only time that Spock (well, the real Spock) had used a mind-meld on him. McCoy had seen images. One made sense, the image of a bullet that had no effect. Spock was planting the suggestion that the bullets being used during their encounter with the Melkotians weren't real. But another image had baffled him -- an ocean, vast and turbulent, under a grey sky, with no land or star for guidance. This had been accompanied by a sensation of cold and confusion. McCoy closed his eyes and attempted to remember the image as exactly as he could. He had felt Spock acknowledge this image and move on. It was something that Spock was interpreting from McCoy's mind.

Fear. McCoy had been afraid, and this was Spock's metaphor for McCoy's mental state. Well, it was apt and something to start with, anyway.

His first patient of the day came in. Ensign Abernathy. Seemed she had torn a rotator cuff playing handball with Lieutenant Bannerjee.

 

 

The door chimed. Spock set his lyre down and stood.

“Enter.”

McCoy came in and Spock regarded him for a moment, trying to decide if there was any appreciable difference between “spruced” and “unspruced” McCoy.

McCoy was carrying a medical tricorder. “I’d like to take another reading first,” he said.

“Of course.”

McCoy detached the scanner and held it a few inches from Spock’s head. He checked the readout.

“Cortical activity is still erratic.”

Spock nodded, and McCoy put the scanner away. He stripped off his medical tunic, folded it, and placed it neatly on Spock’s table, next to the tricorder.

It was a simple gesture, but it was odd, and he deduced that McCoy made it quite consciously. Spock had expected McCoy to touch him perhaps or kiss him or discuss the act they were about to engage in.

Instead, McCoy shed his persona first and set it carefully aside.

McCoy looked surprisingly different without the tunic. Spock could see the wiry curve of McCoy’s musculature beneath the fabric of his black undershirt. Leonard McCoy was a slightly different creature than Doctor McCoy, one with a different kind of strength, and infinitely more vulnerability.

Spock suspected that this was meant as a warning or possibly, a challenge.

Spock undid the fastener at his neck and slipped out of his own uniform shirt.

“I’m unsure how to proceed,” said McCoy. “Humans usually kiss at this point. Vulcans… uhh, touch each other’s faces?”

“Yes. Any contact will do, but the face is the most sensitive area. It establishes the touching of minds.”

“I’ve seen you perform a meld. Are there certain points that I need to touch?”

“No, this is not a mind-meld. Our minds will only touch, each leaving surface thoughts and impressions with the other. Also, in a meld, one mind is active, while the other is more passive. In this, both minds retain complete agency. Either of us can break the contact at any time.”

“I see. Okay, let’s try it then.”

McCoy stepped closer and placed his left hand on Spock’s cheek. His thumb stroked the line of Spock’s cheekbone. Spock had long ago ceased to expect any other sensation from McCoy’s touch than calm reassurance, but although that soothing quality was present now as well, it was overlaid with… pleasure. Spock actually found himself closing his eyes and leaning a bit into McCoy’s hand.

He could feel McCoy’s mind nudging his, could feel McCoy’s gentle wonder at this simple contact. Spock opened his eyes.

McCoy was smiling at Spock. What’s more, he was smiling _that_ smile – the [ _sweet_ ] one that said that McCoy was looking at something [ _m_ _arvelous_ ] that made him very happy.

Suddenly, kissing seemed attractive. He had no idea if this was coming from McCoy’s mind or his own. McCoy’s, probably [ _maybe_ ]. He slid his hand to the back of McCoy’s head, pulled it closer and pressed a kiss to his lips.

[ _dry warm astonishing_ ]

McCoy placed his free arm around Spock’s ribs and laid his hand on Spock’s heart.

Spock broke the kiss, and looked at McCoy inquiringly.

“More of that,” said McCoy, placing his mouth back on Spock’s and licking along Spock’s upper lip. Spock opened his mouth slightly and touched the tip of his tongue to McCoy’s. The pleasure this elicited was heady. McCoy sucked gently at Spock’s tongue.

[ _wet sweet pulling_ ]

McCoy experimented with a gentle bite on Spock’s lower lip.

[ _pleasure want curiosity_ ]

McCoy opened his mouth wider in an invitation to explore. A few more minutes of this examination [ _touch, lick, feel the other’s reaction, repeat, try something new, suck, nibble, feel that too_ ] and McCoy tightened his embrace.

He placed one foot between Spock’s and pressed the length of his body against him – thighs, stomachs, chests touching. McCoy’s hand dropped to Spock’s hip and he pulled Spock’s pelvis into his own. Spock could feel his growing hardness pressing into McCoy’s growing hardness [ _pressing into his_ ].

McCoy took a couple of deep breaths, calming himself. While McCoy’s experience with sexual relations was far greater than Spock’s, it was clear that the added telepathic element was more stimulating than McCoy had expected.

[ _this mind has always captivated him, touching it is a delight_ ]

McCoy’s enthusiasm was contagious. Spock was intrigued not only by McCoy’s obvious enjoyment of touching his mind, but also McCoy’s physical responses. He had one hand over McCoy’s heart, feeling the strength of its beat, noting the counterpoint throb in McCoy’s penis as it filled with blood. Vulcan erections grew more slowly and steadily due to their faster heartbeat and lower blood pressure. McCoy canted one hip back – offering Spock the opportunity to explore the phenomenon further.

Spock pressed a palm to McCoy’s cock. [ _dazzling wave of pleasure rocketing up the spine and lodging somewhere near the occipital lobe, answering echo of pleasure and self-satisfaction at being the cause of it, desperate suppression of images featuring the various things McCoy would also like done to his cock lest Spock get ideas and end this now_ ]

McCoy stepped back, breathing heavily, one hand still on Spock’s shoulder. “Clothes off, now,” he said. “Uh, please.”

“More skin contact will increase the telepathic effect.”

“Noted,” said McCoy, already kicking off his boots.

Spock removed his clothes neatly and efficiently. He lay on the bed, one hand behind his head and the other resting across his stomach, watching McCoy curse at the slide on his pants. He wondered if McCoy always had this much trouble with clothing when aroused. He found himself hoping he would have the opportunity to find out.

McCoy’s body looked much as Spock had imagined it would. He clearly did not find the time to avail himself of the “sun” rooms set aside for the health of the human crew. He likely opted to just take a supplement. He had a runner’s body, also unsurprising since Spock knew that it was the only form of exercise McCoy took. He was hirsute, but he opted to trim the hair under his arms and at his groin. His penis was dark and delicate, and the tip was a pink-purple color. Spock found the overall effect enticing.

The link was stretched at this distance, nearly to the breaking point, but it strengthened as McCoy moved closer. Spock was aware that McCoy could feel him watching, that he was gratified by his appreciation. He could feel McCoy also enjoying the sight of Spock’s body. This seemed illogical to him. As his physician, McCoy had already seen him nude.

“But before now,” said McCoy, “It would have been very unprofessional of me to appreciate it.”

[ _skin like milky jade, cock shading to nephrite_ ]

Spock was amused by the comparison of his skin to various forms of metamorphic silicate crystal.

McCoy sat on his knees on the bed, near Spock’s hip, facing him. He ran a hand from the top of Spock’s foot, up to his hip, just to feel the pleasure [ _in his palm, in Spock’s skin, in McCoy’s palm, in his skin_ ] echo and reverberate into nothing.

[ _tenderness affection desire pleasure, they seem too big_

 _snow – no, ice – on a freezing wind, scouring and lashing, painful, skin flayed and bleeding, blood frozen sticky to the skin before it can flow_ ]

Spock suppressed the emotions as quickly as he could, but he was aware that McCoy had seen them, felt them.

[ _a sea, violent, cold, no stars nor land in sight, disoriented, lost, behemoths lurk below ready to drag him down into the dark_ ]

It was the fear Spock had once seen in McCoy’s mind. For a moment Spock thought that it was caused by the violence of his own emotions, but McCoy continued to stroke his leg in long slow slides.

It was an offering, an answering darkness.

[ _the sea quieter and smoother, deeper than mountains are high, a familiar though not always comforting landscape, cold yes, his usual state of mind_ ]

Spock could feel McCoy search for more images.

[ _a pool of clear water – warm and still, a soft and quiet darkness all around_ ]

Spock allowed the image and the warmth to draw away his tension.

McCoy lay down beside Spock, facing him once again, and pressed the entire length of his body into him. He kissed Spock. Grounded now in both the physical and the mental, Spock could feel McCoy concentrate on pouring comfort into the pool, and compassion, and tenderness. [ _that yes, but this too_ ]

McCoy stroked Spock’s body, as much of it as he could reach, setting off another loop of shared pleasure. [ _the tickle of hair and skin against his palm, the palm and the fingers stroking stomach chest cheek, the nipple pointed and warm under his fingers, hardening, the arch, the press, the pleasure, the longing_ ]

McCoy pressed kisses into Spock’s jaw, his temple, his neck, the delicate tip of his ear. Spock made a sound, a whisper of a moan, cut off just as it was beginning. McCoy kissed Spock’s ear again, licking the curve of it. “It’s music,” he whispered. “Don’t stop.”

Music? Spock concentrated on the rhythm of McCoy’s heartbeat, loud in his ears.

[ _the lyre, the song that he had taught Uhura, the same beat, music, light and air and rhythm, three stars, lodestars, then a sky of stars above the water, waves ripples lapping to this beat, his heartbeat, music_

_pleasure and revelation_

_McCoy sees the stars in their complex and ordered dance, freedom, beauty, perfection_

_He experiences the exhilaration of logic as Spock experiences it_ ]

Spock wondered at this connection – at making McCoy, of all people, see and understand, if only for a moment. He could feel McCoy’s need to shift the balance of sensation back toward the physical. He sat up and straddled Spock’s hips, his thighs and knees pressing into Spock’s sides. He leaned forward and kissed Spock, letting their cocks lay side-by-side, squeezed between their stomachs. He shoved a hand between their bodies and grasped them both in surgeon’s fingers.

[ _pressure and friction, Spock’s penis is as dry as the desert of his world, no matter, McCoy’s body supplies the want, creates liquid enough for both_ ]

McCoy shifted up slightly, leaning on one bent arm, looking at Spock, watching his dark eyes. [ _irises now entirely black_ ] Spock cupped McCoy’s skull, long fingers kneaded at the muscles near McCoy’s uppermost vertebrae. McCoy tilted his head back into Spock’s palm, closing his eyes and biting his lip. [ _pleasured_ ]

The music, the sensations, everything was reaching a crescendo now. [ _the heartbeat, the roll and snap of hips, the hand pulling rubbing, the liquid at the tip, the ripples in the pool, the moans growls cries, the lungs, the heart steady faster strong, pulling the music, pulling the pulse and throb of pleasure, liquid and exhilaration, THERE and THERE and there and again, the liquid warm and there, pulsing more quietly, more slowly, bellies warm and slick, lungs finally full of air._ ]

McCoy eased himself off of Spock, and lay curled into Spock’s side for long minutes before stretching out beside him. They both lay there, getting their breath back, letting their minds slip slowly apart.

“Well," said McCoy once he could speak again, “that was amazing.”

“It was quite satisfactory.”

“I’m going to assume that’s Vulcan for ‘the earth moved’.”

“I fail to see how tectonic activity on your home planet has anything to do with this.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. He muttered something along the lines of “pointy-eared smartass,” but he was smiling when he did it.

Spock might have been offended if he had not, just minutes before, acquired a better understanding of McCoy’s true opinion on the shape of his ears.

McCoy stood up with a contented sigh. He went into the head and wiped off his stomach, tossing the towel into the laundry unit. He brought another one to Spock and sat, one leg folded under him, on the bed facing Spock.

“I would like to repeat this experience,” said Spock.

“Ah, human males my age can’t --”

“At a later date, Doctor.”

“I know,” said McCoy, with a smile.

The smile vanished in the next moment, though. “I haven’t even run the scan, Spock. We have no empirical evidence that this worked.”

“True,” said Spock, sitting up on the bed.

McCoy fetched the tricorder from the table. He came back to the bed and ran the scanner near Spock’s head, as before, watching the view screen. He turned the machine toward Spock.

“Normal,” said McCoy. “The experiment was a success.”

Even to Spock, McCoy’s cheeriness sounded strained.

“Do you wish to continue this... course of treatment?” asked Spock.

“Yes, of course!” That sounded more natural. Spock wished that they were having this conversation while their minds were still touching.

McCoy frowned. “Don’t you? A minute ago you said you wanted to repeat the experience.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I did say that.”

“It’s settled then?”

“Yes, of course.”

McCoy got up and put on his uniform. “I’d better go,” he said. “It wouldn’t do to have the crew see the Chief Medical Officer leaving the First Officer’s quarters at all hours.”

He picked up the tricorder. “Did you see where I set the scanner?”

Spock held it up.

McCoy went back to the bed for it. He was returning the little device to its place on the tricorder when he remembered something.

“You said you wanted to ‘repeat the experience’ before I even ran the scan.”

“Indeed? Fascinating.”

McCoy grinned. He held out his hand, first and second fingers extended.

Spock touched the tips of McCoy’s fingers with his own.

“Good night, Spock.”

“Good night, Leonard.”

  

***

 

“You didn’t truly believe that I wished only for the cessation of my symptoms?” asked Spock.

“Maybe, a little.”

[ _a quiet sea, shading impossibly from navy to aquamarine, shadows below the surface immense and graceful, stars above, constellations in perfect order, the galaxy pink and white and gold against the blackness_ ]

“You are more than shelter.”

“And you’re more than a companion, Spock. That was just the beginning, after all.”


	2. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock spent a couple of years meditating in the sand. For McCoy, it was a little more complicated.

“Shall we continue?” asked Spock.

It was the next day, just after the noon meal. McCoy had chosen to wear Terran clothing again today, as he usually did when he was at home. Spock hadn’t worn anything but black or off-white Vulcan clothes since he’d retired from Starfleet. McCoy was putting the dirty dishes into the replicator.

“I don’t suppose we can just skip to the wedding,” said McCoy.

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“No, of course not,” said McCoy. “Courtyard again?”

“It will rain soon.”

“We can set the environmental controls to block it over the bench.”

“If you insist.”

“I insist, and what’s more, I insist on being the big spoon today.” He took Spock’s hand, felt his misgivings.

[ _breakable_ ]

“I’m the doctor here, Spock. Remember? I’ll be fine, and it’s not as if you won’t know immediately if I’m not.”

“You are being most illogical.”

[ _acquiescence_ ]

They went out to the garden, Spock issuing orders to the household computer along the way. McCoy got comfortable against the southern wall, and indicated the spot between his bent knees with a little pat. Spock went back into the main room and returned with a cushion which he placed behind McCoy’s back. Finally he sat, leaning carefully back against McCoy, making sure to offset the bulk of his weight into the wall next to him.

“See, it’s fine.”

“It is my duty to --”

“-- take care of me. I know.” McCoy put his arms around Spock. “This part is going to be harder on you than it is on me, Spock. I have a duty to you too, you know.”

“Where do we start, then?”

“I know why you chose to undergo _kolinahr_ , but I’ve never asked you what it was like. I’ve only seen a little bit – the monastery, the masters discussing the mechanics of purging emotion – but never what it was like to attempt it.”

“It was… painful. Part of the ritual is to learn to overcome physical pain, hunger, thirst, even the need for sleep. One fasts. One meditates for long hours in stressful positions. One stays awake.”

[ _he sits beside the tiny bed, it isn’t the longing for sleep that he cannot purge, it is the longing for dreams_ ]

“At first,” Spock went on, “I would hallucinate after the tenth day of sleeplessness. It was always you or Jim. He would plead with me to stop the training, you would berate me for ‘being a damn fool and turning my back on my Humanity.’ After a year, the hallucinations ceased. But it took two years for the dreams to stop.”

“What kind of dreams?”

“I would dream that you came to my bed. You would wrap yourself around me, ‘big spoon’ as you call it. You would kiss the back of my neck. The first time that I slept after sitting vigil and you didn’t visit my dreams, I awoke weeping.”

Spock could feel McCoy’s sadness, his empathy and compassion. “I never spoke of it to you because it was a self-inflicted pain. It was my decision that precipitated it. And that same decision caused your suffering as well.”

“It’s water under the bridge, Spock. Anything I needed to forgive got forgiven decades ago.” McCoy tightened his hold on Spock and kissed him a couple of centimeters below his left ear.

“Where do we begin?” asked Spock.

“San Francisco, I think. Just after we finished that first five-year mission. The _Enterprise_ was due for a major refit, but so was every other ship in the fleet. It would be a year before she could even get into the dock, and another eighteen months for the work to be completed.

“I was pretty burned out. I’m sure that if it hadn’t been for you, that last seven months would’ve done me in. And you wanted to go to Vulcan, see if the doctors there could find a way to stop the periodic spikes in your cortical activity.”

 

***

 

It had been a nice little “welcome home” ceremony. McCoy had enjoyed meeting some of the families of the people he’d served with. Sulu’s mother, Maki, was an English professor with a special love of Southern Gothic literature. Chekov’s father, Andrei, was quiet man with a dry sense of humor. And Uhura’s niece was a dancer who had been named after her Aunt Nyota.

The _Enterprise_ would be doing a year of short training runs under Captain Mary Harjo while awaiting her turn in the shipyards, where she would be getting a complete refit. Sulu, Chekov, Uhura, Scotty, and Rand would be serving aboard her. Chapel wanted to complete her medical training; she had been most of the way through medical school when she had chosen to join Starfleet for personal reasons. Starfleet brass had plans for Kirk (plans that McCoy was pretty sure Kirk would hate). Spock was going to Vulcan to seek treatment for his condition, and McCoy was planning to help an old classmate, Dr. Maes, at Georgia Tech with a short research project on possible treatments for Tarkalean flu.

The truth was, McCoy was at loose ends. He was badly in need of a break. He had no idea where things were going with Spock. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to continue in Starfleet.

He was sure he needed some fresh air. He stepped out to the wide garden. It was chilly out here – winter in San Francisco. McCoy was not fond of the cold, but at least it meant that the garden was deserted. He rambled down one of the walks until he found a bench. He sat on it and drew his knees to his chest. It was an undignified position, but at least it kept him a little warmer.

“Well, then. What do you want to do?” he asked himself. The last seven months with Spock had been… they’d been very _satisfactory_ , to borrow a phrase. The sex was mind-blowing in more ways than one. Every touch became a circuit of gratification – it became impossible to separate the giving of pleasure from the receiving of it. McCoy had been moved by Spock’s willingness to let him in, by his commitment to “providing companionship,” by his acceptance. It had felt good.

He wanted to go to Vulcan, but they had decided to be sensible instead.

“You appear to be releasing excess cortisol.” Spock sat on the bench beside McCoy.

“Hm? Oh.” McCoy swiped at the tear he had not noticed, and sat up straight. “I didn’t hear you sneak up.”

“I do not sneak. You were distracted.”

“It’s a common human response to stress hormones, Spock. I suppose Vulcans don’t cry.”

“Vulcans have tear ducts, but they only respond to stimuli such as particulate matter in the eyes.”

“Of course,” said McCoy, dryly.

“Why are you experiencing such high levels of stress?”

“Because I’m going to miss you, you colossal pixie.”

“Ah, I see. So you chose the perfectly logical course of hiding from me in a garden.”

McCoy just rolled his eyes.

“Let me come to Vulcan with you.”

“It would be unwise,” said Spock. “Setting aside the fact that our relationship would attract considerable censure, I don’t know what therapy the doctors on Vulcan will want me to undergo, but it will very likely include intense meditation. Your presence would be… distracting. Not to mention that they will no doubt wish to study these aberrant periods for themselves. That will be impossible if I am not having them.”

McCoy smiled at that. “Spock, are you trying to say I’m irresistible?”

“I experience great pleasure… and comfort with you. But I need to do this alone.”

McCoy nodded. “When do you leave?”

“The transport leaves in six hours.”

“I have temporary quarters just down the street. Let’s go. I’d like to stock up on a little pleasure and comfort to tide me over.”

 

 

McCoy found an apartment in a quiet neighborhood near the campus in Atlanta.

“It’s kind of pokey, ain’t it?”

“It’s at least three times the size of my quarters on the _Enterprise_ , Dad. And the view is a hell of a lot better.”

David McCoy was visiting his son’s apartment for the first time.

“I get why you’d want to do something useful while you’re waiting to sort things out, but I still don’t know why you didn’t come home to Savannah. It’s only twenty minutes away.”

“I like the walk to the lab. Hell, I like any walk I don’t have to take on a treadmill in a rec room full of sweaty crewmen.” McCoy put his hands on his father’s upper arms and ducked his head slightly so he could look him in the eyes. “I promise I’ll spend some weekends with you, if you promise to take me out for crab cakes.”

“Ha! It’s a deal!”

His neighbors, Dr. and Mr. Gutierrez, had a twelve-year-old daughter named Julia. She came home from school each day at about the same time McCoy was getting home from the lab. Her life’s ambition was to join Starfleet Medical and become a doctor. Once Julia found out that McCoy was a real-life starship doctor, she pestered him with questions daily.

“If an Andorian loses an antenna, is it true that it will grow back? Can Denobulans really blow up like a puffer fish? Can Vulcans kill someone just by touching their neck? Is Space Madness real, ‘cuz it sounds made-up.”

McCoy would sit on the stoop and patiently answer all of her questions until her father called her in to do her chores.

Kirk came to visit. He had been promoted to admiral, and as McCoy had predicted, he hated it. Kirk wanted to know when McCoy was planning to return to active duty. McCoy put him off, citing the commitment he’d made to Maes.

And so his life settled into a routine – the Tarkalean flu study, occasional lunches with a colleague, a pleasant walk home, a chat with Julia, dinner, a book, and bed. He spent every other weekend at his dad’s. It would have been idyllic, really, if he hadn’t missed Spock. Still, three months seemed to practically fly by.

Then the “Dear Leonard” letter came. –

_I have chosen to undergo the ritual of_ kolinahr _, the purging of all emotion. I release you from any commitments, implicit or explicit, that may exist between us – Spock._

McCoy sat on the small couch in his living room, reading and re-reading these words. He thought of their last conversation. Had Spock been planning this then? It seemed impossible. McCoy thought of Julia’s question and how it had reminded him of the magical things a Vulcan _could_ do just by touching your neck. He remembered the pain that Spock endured when he felt too much. He remembered how diligent Spock had been in caring for him. He remembered music.

He thought of the ocean – the image they had used. He could see it, feel it perfectly – as smooth and featureless as a wave-washed stone. The sky above was the same blank shade of pewter. And the cold here made his limbs ache. He was so tired. So alone. He had made a mistake somewhere along the line. He wondered where. When had his life become about treading water?

Spock had given him something warm and buoyant to hold onto. It was gone now, and McCoy couldn’t even muster anger over it.

There was nothing on top of the water but greyness and pain. He ceased to struggle. And he sank down into the frigid blackness, where there is no pale blank light, just dark and cold and weight. And he let this deeper cold, this colder-than-freezing-cold sink into his flesh, into his bones until he was numb.

 

 

“And what does Dr. T’Meik say?” asked Sarek.

“The only therapy she can recommend is regular contact with another mind,” replied Spock. “She advises that I take a bride.”

“Which you have already, most illogically, refused to do.”

“It is quite logical. I have no desire for progeny. Nor do I wish to marry merely for my own benefit. I do not want another union that is not based on mutual respect.”

“If you spent time on Vulcan, you might find it possible to build that respect with your next bride.”

“My duties carry me elsewhere.”

Sarek appeared to consider his son’s words. “There is no logic in having this argument again. Your position is clear, and I cannot convince you otherwise. Speak with T’Pau about this. Perhaps her greater wisdom will guide you better than mine.”

As it turned out, T’Pau did have another suggestion.

“Undergo the _kolinahr_ , Spock. Burn away the last of these Human emotions. Commit to being fully Vulcan. When you cease indulging your Terran ancestry, it will cease to pain you.”

Spock could not go on using McCoy to shield himself from this problem. Setting aside that it was unethical, there was the certainty that a time would come when McCoy would be unavailable. T’Meik had confirmed that the episodes would eventually cause permanent brain damage.

His numerous lapses in discipline over the last few years were also deeply troubling. He needed to exert complete control over his emotions if he was to continue being an effective officer. Otherwise he would inevitably fail the others when they needed him.

_K_ _olinahr_ was the logical option.

Spock wrote three missives that day. The first was to his mother –

_I have always valued your presence in my life. I hope that you will understand that this decision in no way reflects a lack of my esteem for you._

The second was to Kirk –

_I must purge myself of emotion. I see no other viable choice. I regret the pain that my decision may cause you and others. I trust that you and the Doctor will rely upon one another, and that you will forgive me._

The third was to McCoy.

The next day Spock submitted himself to the masters.

 

 

The sinking was slow. McCoy continued to function, to go to the lab, to answer Julia’s questions, to eat food, to bathe for eleven days. He had even managed to take a few walks over the first weekend. But it was becoming harder and harder to muster the energy to do things that seemed so utterly pointless. He stayed in bed for the next weekend. He did not get up and go to the lab on Tuesday. In the end, it was Julia’s insistent calls to emergency services that finally brought someone to McCoy’s door, four days later. He didn’t even bother to protest when they took him to the hospital. He had barely eaten for a week.

“Severe Depressive Episode,” his chart read, along with “Anxiety Disorder.” Doctors and nurses came to his room. They insisted that he eat and drink. They scanned him. They asked him to have an opinion about the food they brought or the temperature of the room. He had none.

Then they brought him _plomeek_ broth (of all things) for lunch, and he broke down sobbing. 

 

> “You have not been eating adequately,” said Spock, depositing a tray on McCoy’s desk.
> 
> McCoy was dumbfounded. Spock noticed his eating habits? Spock disapproved? Spock had taken it upon himself to correct the situation? Spock... cared?
> 
> “You care?” said McCoy.
> 
> “You are my...” Spock seemed unsure how to end that. “It is appropriate for me to concern myself with your well-being, considering the closeness of our association.”
> 
> “Okay. What is it?” asked McCoy, removing the lid.
> 
> “ _Plomeek_ broth. It is nutritionally dense and high in fiber. Vulcans eat it for breakfast. I programmed a food synthesizer card for it when I first came on board.”
> 
> “I thought _plomeek_ broth was purple.”
> 
> “There are eight major regional variations on this dish. This is the one that was prepared for me during my childhood near ShiKahr,” said Spock.
> 
> McCoy tried a spoonful and considered it for a moment.
> 
> “It’s not bad. A little bland.” He reached into his desk drawer and rummaged among the bottles there until he produced a small one containing a thick, orange-red liquid. He added a generous quantity of this liquid to the broth, and tasted it again. “It’s really good with some hot sauce.”
> 
> Spock added an optional subroutine to the _plomeek_ broth program for hot sauce. He and McCoy started eating breakfast together at least every third day.

 

“Dr. McCoy?” McCoy stood up from the armchair he had been sitting in. “I’m Geldin Palix. I monitored your surgery, and I’ll be your counselor for the next few weeks.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” said McCoy, shaking Palix’s hand. “Is it usual to have a telepath conduct these sessions?”

Palix was a middle aged Betazoid man with dark, shaggy, hair, greying at the temples. He gestured to the chair McCoy had just vacated, then took the one opposite. “Please, have a seat. Yes, we need to have someone who can monitor your emotional responses spend some time with you. That way we can make sure the neuro-regulator is working correctly.”

McCoy had a shiny new device in his skull.

“I see,” said McCoy.

“Does it bother you? Being around a telepath?”

McCoy considered this. “Not really. Enough people have rummaged around in my head by now, I guess.”

Palix chuckled. “I suppose you’ve met members of many telepathic species in your travels.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you ever had a depressive episode like this before?”

“Not like this, no,” said McCoy.

“Was there some event that triggered it?”

“I was dumped.”

“Dumped?”

“Jilted, cast aside, walked out on.”

“Your romantic partner ended your relationship?”

“Yes. That.”

“I see. Was this someone you served with?” asked Palix.

“Yeah. He returned to his home world to seek treatment for a condition that was affecting his brain. Communication between us was sporadic; he wanted to concentrate on his treatment, and he didn’t want his family knowing about us since we didn’t have a formal arrangement. They do things differently there. Then he informed me that he was ‘releasing me from all commitments.’”

McCoy pressed the heels of his hands into his temples for a moment. “People don’t become incapacitated just because a romance goes sour.”

Dr. Palix leaned forward. “You recently spent five years doing one of the most stressful jobs in existence. Since then, you’ve been separated from your _imzadi_ , barely hearing from him until he decided to sever ties with you. Take my advice, don’t compare your pain to that of others; every experience is different.” 

 

> The skirmish with the bird-of-prey was over in ten minutes, but it took McCoy and M’Benga over ten hours in surgery to clean up the mess. McCoy sent the other doctor off to his quarters to get some sleep. He stayed up that night himself to monitor the injured. Ensign Sara Lark died in the middle of the night and was moved to the morgue with the crewman who had perished in the initial attack. By the time Dr. M’Benga came back to relieve him, McCoy was stumbling with exhaustion.
> 
> “Let me get a corpsman to help you back to your quarters, Doctor,” said M’Benga.
> 
> “I can assist Dr. McCoy.” Spock had apparently just materialized out of nowhere and into the sickbay.
> 
> Once in McCoy’s quarters, Spock pulled McCoy’s medical tunic over his head. He folded it and set it on the table. Then he walked McCoy to the bed. McCoy sat on the end and watched Spock as he tugged McCoy’s boots off. Spock pulled back the blanket.
> 
> “Lie down, Leonard.”
> 
> McCoy obeyed, curling up on his side. Spock climbed into the bed behind him.
> 
> “She’d've lived, if I could’ve got to her sooner,” said McCoy.
> 
> “And another might have died in her place,” said Spock.
> 
> Spock wrapped strong arms around McCoy and pulled him tight against his chest. He tucked his forehead against the nape of McCoy’s neck, thinking quiet and peace into McCoy’s mind.
> 
> He did not leave until McCoy stopped shaking and slept.

 

David McCoy brought a jar of homemade chowchow once McCoy had been moved to the convalescent ward. “It’ll help the hospital food go down better.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“I sent some flowers to that gal, Julia. She has the instincts of a fine doctor.”

“I told her the same thing when I talked to her yesterday.”

The rooms here looked like they belonged in a hotel – no biobeds or monitors. No personality either, but they were a step closer to homey. The McCoys were sitting in chairs near the only window. David looked out for a long moment.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurting?” David asked.

“I didn’t want to burden you, and I didn’t know how bad it was myself, until it was too late. I’m sorry, Dad.”

“Next time, burden me. It’s a hell of a lot better than scaring me half to death.” 

 

> “Are you out of your goddamn mind?!”
> 
> “My mind is functioning within its usual parameters.”
> 
> Spock was sitting on the side of an exam table in the sickbay. McCoy had already tossed both Spock’s uniform shirt and undershirt into the recycler. They were scorched and bloodstained beyond repair. Now McCoy was treating the plasma burn on Spock’s back.
> 
> “Taking on three Nausicaan pirates armed with plasma rifles is ‘functioning within the usual parameters?’”
> 
> “Only one of them had a plasma rifle. The others were unarmed.”
> 
> McCoy administered a hypospray of kelotane and metorapan. “Oh, well, like playing with kittens, then.”
> 
> “Hardly, but I calculated the risk to be acceptable considering the value of the cargo.”
> 
> “Acceptable! Spock, this burn is right over your heart. If you had taken a direct hit, you’d be dead!”
> 
> “And without that antidote, the colonists of Beta VI would be just as dead.”
> 
> McCoy pressed his lips together so tightly, they turned white. He scowled ferociously as he began applying plasti-skin from a small spray bottle.
> 
> “The needs of the many--”
> 
> “Don’t say it!”
> 
> “Doctor, I assure you that I have no desire to die.”
> 
> McCoy sighed. “You sure about that?” But the anger was burning itself out.
> 
> “Quite sure.”
> 
> Spock held out his first and second fingers. McCoy stepped around the exam table and touched his own fingers to Spock’s. Spock could feel the echoes of the sick fear that McCoy had felt when he first saw the damage to Spock’s back, and heard Sulu’s colorful account of what had happened.
> 
> “You know that the outcome you fear has not occurred,” said Spock. “This suffering is illogical.”
> 
> “Yup.”
> 
> “I can only promise you that I would never cause it lightly.”

 

“You know that you’re avoiding the topic.”

Dr. Palix and McCoy were once again seated in the far-too-comfortable armchairs in the counselor’s office.

“I got so used to not talking about it, I’m not sure how to start.”

“Nobody knew about your romance?”

McCoy tried to keep a straight face, he really did, but he finally gave into the hilarity of describing what he had experienced with Spock as a _romance._

“I’m sorry,” he said, another giggle trying to get out. “I’m sorry. It’s just… my _imzadi_ , as you describe him, is a Vulcan. He’s about as romantic as a carp.”

Dr. Palix smiled. McCoy’s mirth was contagious to the telepath. “Okay, so how would you describe it?”

“Spock always used the word ‘association.’ I suppose that works.” It was the first time he had spoken that name in months. It had a sobering effect.

“And you kept this ‘association’ a secret?”

“Vulcans are extremely private about such things, and we were officers serving together. It was best to be... circumspect. We decided to keep it quiet, at least until the end of the mission.”

“Wasn’t that difficult?”

“Not really. Vulcans aren’t demonstrative. We both had a lot of responsibilities, duties. It wasn’t romantic; that was part of the charm.”

“I get a sense of great affection, loyalty, and loss when you speak of him. But you wouldn’t describe it as romantic?”

“No. He was one of my best friends. We’d already been through fire together. Sex… intimacy brought us closer – I’ve never felt closer to another person – but it didn’t make it _romantic_. That was the whole point, really. I’ve done romance and grand passion. Once it burns out, it seems I’m always left with nothing. Spock was my attempt to change my luck, I guess. But in the end...”

“In the end?”

“Not yet, Doctor.”

“Alright.” Dr. Palix decided not to push. McCoy understood the value of these sessions. He would get to it in his own time. Palix wasn’t going to let the whole subject of the Vulcan _imzadi_ drop though. “Vulcans are touch-telepaths. Am I correct in assuming that the sex included telepathic intimacy as well?”

“Yeah. It did.”

“There’s a debate raging on Betazed right now over the ethics of having sex with members of non-telepathic races. Many feel that it is unfair to introduce someone to the intensity of it, since they would suffer from its loss should the affair end.”

McCoy chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry. It’s sort of a trade-off. I’m sure many of the ex-lovers of Betazoids are happy enough to go back to low-key fooling around with people who can’t immediately know what all their sweet spots are.” 

 

> McCoy knelt between Spock’s wide-spread thighs, slowly slipping a third slicked finger into Spock. Spock had assured him that this step was utterly unnecessary, anyone who could slow their heart and respiration at will could manage to relax one little ring of muscle.
> 
> McCoy had reminded him that it was about the journey, not the destination.
> 
> Now McCoy was beginning to think it was going to be a mighty short journey.
> 
> Spock felt incredible. Not tight, he wasn’t kidding about the muscle control, but warm and smooth, a softly enveloping caress. McCoy wasn’t doing anything except slowly stroking in and out, but feeling Spock’s pleasure on top of his own was, as usual, intensifying everything.
> 
> McCoy found himself thanking the gods of at least five different planets that Vulcans don’t have a prostate gland. He was pretty sure that this would be over in a cascade of fireworks at the first sparking touch on those nerves. Neither of them could resist the pleasure of the other’s orgasm. If one of them came, they both did.
> 
> McCoy heard the sound of a lyre – not a tune, just a few notes meant to sooth and aid concentration. He felt himself pull back from the edge. He looked at Spock, lying on his back, eyes closed, lips parted, head turned to one side.
> 
> They’d been doing this for months now, and McCoy still couldn’t get over how ridiculously amazing it was, nor how thoroughly Spock threw himself into it. [ _heart and soul, body and mind_ ]
> 
> McCoy leaned forward and, bracing himself on one elbow, he started licking and nibbling the tendon on Spock’s neck, slowly working his way up and ignoring his desire to suck a mark there.
> 
> [ _claim and keep_ ] McCoy was a little embarrassed at the thought, but Spock was actually smiling.
> 
> [ _recognition_ ]
> 
> Okay, another way that they weren’t so different. Buried deep inside both of their brains was a small, furry mammal growling over its territory. McCoy grinned, then used his tongue to trace the curve of Spock’s ear right up to the delicate tip.
> 
> [ _pleasure shiver_ _ing_ _up his spine_ ]
> 
> Spock’s breathing took on the slightest hint of voice.
> 
> [ _better, more_ ]
> 
> McCoy turned his attention to Spock’s nipple – firm licks with the flat of his tongue, swirls with the tip, deep tugging sucks until it stood up sharply from the areola.
> 
> Spock keened. McCoy added his own sounds – somewhere between a sigh and a sob – to the duet.
> 
> He withdrew his fingers from Spock and tipped some more lube into his hand. He gingerly slicked his cock and lined it up with Spock’s entrance.
> 
> He pressed the head in, then grasped Spock’s thighs just below the crease of each knee. In one motion, he pushed Spock’s legs back and slid his cock inside, in and in until he had reached the hilt. Spock’s eyes were open now, dark with pleasure and desire, and McCoy could see in Spock’s mind that his own were the same. They both stared for a long moment, stunned and gasping at this profound and animal connection.
> 
> McCoy could feel Spock’s consciousness focused on the throb of his cock. [ _t_ _his heartbeat, deep in his body,_ _filling him, a shaft of light, expanding with each pulse, reaching for every corner of his body_ ]
> 
> McCoy was caught up in the imagery coming from Spock’s mind. He needed to move now. Once the light filled them both, it would be over. He pulled slowly out to the tip again, then thrust, just slightly faster, home. He was able to repeat this motion a half dozen times before finesse and indulgence became impossible. [ _the light filled them both now, pulsing and uncontainable, a thing created by them but swiftly becoming more than either could bear, a cycle of sensation, a rapidly rising spiral of notes searching for resolution_ ]
> 
> McCoy’s thrusts became rougher, more erratic, desperate pleas for just another second of sensation. [ _the light bursting and blinding and engulfing,_ _the release into harmony,_ _the long seconds pulsing and beating_ ] McCoy’s mouth found Spock’s and he kissed him with no more gracefulness than he had just shown in taking him. It didn’t matter though, any more than the slippery mess or the tangled covers or the sweaty skin mattered. McCoy let go of Spock’s legs and Spock unfolded them just enough to cross them behind McCoy’s thighs, holding him there until McCoy’s penis softened and slid from Spock’s body.

 

McCoy didn’t wait for Dr. Palix to ask again. He opened the next session by saying, “It’s not just that he severed ties with me. He decided to undergo the ritual of _kolinahr_. It means he’s trying to purge the last of his emotions. He’s expunging it all. All of his years of service in Starfleet – his friendships with Captain Pike, Jim, Uhura, Chapel... me. I know it’s nothing personal; I’m just another thing that has to go in order for him to attain a perfection that I knew all along he wanted. I’ve seen it in his mind, and it’s beautiful. I can’t blame him.”

“You are resigned,” said Palix.

“I can’t compete with it.”

“You feel like you’re being erased.”

“I am being erased. Oh, he’ll recognize my face, remember my name and the things we did together, but they’ll be meaningless, won’t they? I mean, they won’t be meaningless to me, but they will be to him. And that’s the kick in the gut, ain’t it?” 

 

> That last night in San Francisco, they had gone back to McCoy’s quarters, stripped naked, and climbed into the bed. It was huge compared to an officer’s bunk – the rest of the bridge crew could have fit on the bed too. They lay in the middle of the soft sheets, the thick duvet, and the too many pillows. They were on their sides, facing each other, their hands joined in the ten-centimeter strip that lay between them.
> 
> Time was another luxury that they had never before had in such quantity – a little over five hours before Spock needed to leave and meet the transport to Vulcan.
> 
> They “talked,” after a fashion. They shared small memories and images. – [ _Amanda teaching Spock to play chess, David reading the Oz books to Leonard,_ _Spock falling asleep against his sehlat’s flank, McCoy playing with his cousins and their latest litter of pups, Spock telling his father that he was joining Starfleet, McCoy losing his first patient, Captain Pike praising Spock for his quick thinking, McCoy meeting a promising young lieutenant named Kirk_ ]
> 
> In between these exchanges, McCoy brought Spock’s attention back to the bed – its warmth, its softness, its solidity, the thickness of the cover – and their hands joined in the middle. Spock was puzzled at first, but he eventually realized that McCoy was building an anchor, a place to return after each explored thought. He understood what McCoy wanted. He let the storm rise.
> 
> At first it was as always. [ _Spock alone and naked, defenseless against the pain and cold, bleeding and bowed,_ _t_ _hen not alone, McCoy’s hand in his,_ _McCoy pulling_ _Spock closer, sheltering him from the icy wind with his body, McCoy pull_ _ing_ _something heavy and soft_ _out of nowhere, and cover_ _ing_ _them both,_ _crouching_ _there on the snowy ground, the snow now felt_ _dry_ _and warm,_ _t_ _he sounds of the storm reced_ _ing_ ] Then Spock came to himself in a too-large bed on Earth, McCoy’s arms wrapped tightly around him.
> 
> McCoy radiated warmth and acceptance and compassion and gratitude, felt Spock’s answering bemusement and trust. He didn’t understand why McCoy needed to know, but he trusted that McCoy understood emotions and that there was some purpose there.
> 
> “Have I hurt you?” asked Spock.
> 
> “Does it hurt to watch me worry myself to death over things I can’t control?”
> 
> “It is… frustrating,” Spock conceded.
> 
> “Well, it’s plain painful to watch one of the best men I know tortured with shame that he doesn’t deserve.”
> 
> For the rest of their time in San Francisco, they lay pressed and tangled together, barely moving, just letting the sensation of touch reverberate between them, building slowly but inevitably, until one of them couldn’t resist hitching his pelvis just a fraction, and they both came in thick, warm waves.

 

One month after being admitted to the hospital, McCoy was released with a clean bill of health. The implant was functioning perfectly. Dr. Palix wanted him to continue weekly therapy for awhile, but there was no reason why McCoy couldn’t be on active duty, if he wanted.

If he wanted. It was time to go see Kirk.

 

 

“Bones!” Kirk beamed as he walked across his office to deliver something between a hug and handshake. He looked at McCoy for a long second before asking, “How are you? Is everything alright?”

“Fine, Jim. Fit as a fiddle. Right as rain.”

“Oh, thank goodness! Bones, you had me worried there for awhile.”

“Well, I’m fine now. Nothing to worry about.” McCoy smiled.

Kirk walked back to his desk, gesturing for McCoy to take the chair across from his. “To what do I owe the honor?”

McCoy held up the Starfleet PADD he was carrying. “I wanted to tell you myself,” he said handing it to Kirk. “I’m resigning my commission.”

“You’re what?” Kirk leaned forward. “Leaving Starfleet? Why?”

“I’m just done, Jim. I’m done with the stress and the worry, the gallivanting around the galaxy. I found a spot in a nice little practice southwest of Savannah. I can be near Dad and spend my days treating sprained ankles and food poisoning.”

Kirk pushed the PADD back toward McCoy. “Bones, are you sure? It’s one thing to call yourself a simple country doctor. It’s another to actually be one.”

McCoy shook his head, “I’ve thought a long time about this. I’m never coming back to Starfleet.”

Kirk sighed. “First Spock and now you.”

“Spock resigned?”

“No, but he’s on indefinite leave while he undergoes some Vulcan ritual to remove all of his emotions. You know like affection and friendship – all that pesky stuff.” Kirk sighed, and stared at his hands knotted together in his lap. “It’s just… it’s like being erased, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

 

***

 

McCoy sat, listening to the rare Vulcan rainfall, waiting for Spock to take in this memory.

“Jim never spoke to me of this time,” said Spock.

“I think, afterwards, he was just happy to get you back.”

“And this is when you chose to resign?”

“Yep. I moved to a little town near Savannah, got a spot in a practice there. I did treat sprains and food poisoning and even housemaid’s knee. I spent time with Dad, and sometimes sent an interesting book on Andorian fighting rituals or Tellarite grooming habits to Julia. I dated a few times, even took a couple of them to bed, but my heart wasn’t really in it.” McCoy paused for a second and smiled. “I grew a truly magnificent beard,” he said.

“Jim was quite delighted to show me the picture,” said Spock. “Then Admiral Nagura issued an emergency reinstatement of your commission.”

“Jim drafted me.”

Spock’s eyebrow shot up.

“Oho! Wasn’t quite so keen to tell you that bit, was he?” asked McCoy. “Some Lieutenant showed up at my door, and informed me that my commission had been reactivated and that I had an hour to pack a bag before he escorted me back to San Francisco. Nagura may have signed it, but it was all Jim Kirk.”

“This was just before the incident with V’ger?”

“Uh-huh.”

 

***

 

Great. McCoy swore as he packed a duffel. He grumbled as he boarded the shuttle. He glowered as he and Lieutenant What’s-His-Name flew to San Francisco. He yelled a bit at a couple of engineers who were working transporter duty. Then he saw Kirk, realized who was behind this whole debacle, and yelled at him too.

“I need you, Bones.”

Ah, the magic words. McCoy could not say no to someone who needed him.

So he went and inspected sickbay. It was outstanding. Starfleet had really outdone itself. The medlab made his hands itch to work in it. Chapel was practically glowing as she gave him a tour. He congratulated her on getting her medical degree. He whistled as he shaved and changed into his new uniform. Then he went to complain at Kirk some more.

He fell right back into his duties as if he had never left. He helped get the sickbay ready, visited the bridge, (big smiles for Uhura, Checkov, Sulu) dropped some sorely needed home-truths on Kirk, and just generally did what was needed.

When Spock showed up out of the blue, McCoy was actually happy to see him. Spock, however, was indifferent. McCoy contented himself with needling the hell out of the green-blooded something-or-other and delivering a few more pointed observations to Kirk. He told himself that it was to be expected.

Then they were underway. And things got pretty dire, pretty fast. It turns out that riding around in a giant, sentient, murderous cloud that considers you as you might consider a bot-fly larva in your left buttock is not conducive to fretting over the pitiful state of your love-life though. McCoy alternated between pacing sickbay while worrying about what might be going on, and going to the bridge to be scared out of his mind by what was definitely going on.

Then they brought Spock into the sickbay on an anti-grav stretcher. The idiot had left the ship and tried to meld with whatever that thing out there was. McCoy felt his stomach lurch at the sight of Spock’s unconscious form. “Separate it, McCoy,” he told himself. “Work on the body.” How many times had he said it before?

He grabbed one sleeve of Spock’s pressure suit, while Chapel got the other. They yanked them off, then McCoy grabbed the helmet while Chapel removed Spock’s boots. Spock opened his eyes, and for just a split second, McCoy was sure he saw something, something the opposite of indifferent, there. Then it was gone, and Spock appeared to be catatonic. Chapel already had a scanner, so McCoy went to the exam table’s console to check the readings.

Kirk arrived, Spock regained consciousness, they held hands for a bit, everybody went back to the bridge to get the pants scared off them some more. Spock _cried_ – on the _bridge_. Kirk bluffed. And the next thing McCoy knew, he was part of an expedition to go meet whatever was at the heart of the murderous cloud. Why Kirk seemed to always be of the opinion that the Chief Medical Officer belonged on these sorts of missions, he had no idea, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to miss out.

They all poked around a bit, then V’ger (the murderous cloud had a name, it turned out), in the form of a beautiful Deltan, decided to merge with Decker, the guy who was supposed to be captaining the _Enterprise_ before Kirk stuck his nose in. Somehow, that saved the day. McCoy retreated to his quarters. He was exhausted.

McCoy was sitting at his desk the next morning, trying to write a report that didn’t sound like complete nonsense (and studiously ignoring the fact that Spock had reached for Kirk instead of McCoy when his mood had gone all touchy-feely), when Uhura came in, carrying a small tray with a cloth over it.

“Uhura!” McCoy stood and grinned at her. It really was great to see her again.

“Sit, Doctor,” she said smiling her sweetest smile. “I brought you something.”

“Oh? What is it?” he asked returning to his chair.

She whisked the cloth away as she took the chair opposite his. There was an earthenware coffeepot, a couple of white, handle-less cups, and a small salt cellar with a horn spoon in it.

“Coffee,” said Uhura. “It’s my grandmother’s recipe.” She proceeded to put a tiny spoonful of salt in the bottom of each cup and pour the coffee over it.

They each took a cup. McCoy sipped his. It was quite good, really. Strange, but good.

“It’s nice. Thank you.”

Uhura smiled. “Well, it’s my understanding that when advice is being dispensed in this office, beverages are customary.”

“I usually supply the beverages though,” said McCoy, taking another sip.

“You usually dispense the advice too. Tell me, who counsels the counselor?”

“We have a ship’s counselor now. Nice guy. Name’s Wrobleski. But I somehow don’t think that’s what you’re driving at.”

“I was working on the duty rosters when I hit a little snag. I didn’t realize you were here on an emergency reinstatement. Hell, I didn’t even know such a thing existed.”

“Neither did I, until this week,” said McCoy.

“Now that the emergency’s over, you’re free to resign again, effective immediately. Is that what you want to do?” asked Uhura.

“I really don’t know. It’s surprisingly… nice to be back, but I quit because I wasn’t sure if loving the work was worth the… less pleasant parts.” he said quietly.

Uhura sat back in her chair, holding her steaming cup just under her chin. “You know, the Communications Officer of a starship has a unique position on the bridge. She can see the whole bridge crew, but their attentions are usually focused elsewhere. It allows her to observe people without really being noticed.”

McCoy sipped some more coffee.

Uhura went on, “She might even see things like the First Officer brush the Chief Medical Officer’s hand during a tense moment. She might see that same Chief Medical Officer trade a meaningful look with the First Officer. She might even notice when the usual badinage suddenly loses its most pointed barbs.”

McCoy finished his coffee and set his empty cup back on the tray.

“I’ve known Mr. Spock for years, Doctor. I’ve worked closely with him, played music with him. I know him just about as well as anyone can. What you two had meant a great deal to him.”

McCoy leaned forward, opened his mouth to object, but Uhura shushed him. “It did. I know that it must have hurt when he underwent the _kolinahr_. It hurt me too. But you saw what happened yesterday. It has changed him. Go to him. Yell at him if you have to. What do you really have to lose? The two of you can’t be any more distant than you are now. Just don’t leave here until you’ve at least tried.”

“Thank you, Uhura.”

She stood up and took the tray. “Have a good day, Doctor.”

 

 

Spock’s new quarters, as it turned out, were right next to McCoy’s. McCoy touched the com panel by Spock’s door.

“Spock here.”

“It’s me. May I come in?”

The door slid open.

It was a small room, clearly meant for a lower-ranking officer. Of course, Decker had been placed in the quarters reserved for the First Officer, and Spock had shown up at the last minute. He had been given the nicest thing left.

Spock was standing up from a small alcove where he had been seated with his lyre.

McCoy couldn’t think of a damned thing to say. His mind seemed to be cycling through emotions, as if it couldn’t pick which one to feel. He just stood there, looking at Spock, who was also just standing there with his hands behind his back, looking at McCoy.

Finally, “You came to see me, Doctor.”

“I thought Vulcans didn’t cry.” It was the first coherent thing that his brain could produce.

“Vulcans don’t. I’m not entirely Vulcan though.”

“Yeah, it kind of sticks in your craw too, don’t it?” Apparently McCoy’s mind had settled on anger as being the appropriate emotion here. Shocking.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Being Human,” said McCoy. “You resent it. All the messy emotions and sticky fluids. All the indignity of it. You tried to get rid of that part of yourself with this _kolinahr_ business.”

“At the time that I submitted myself for the training, I believed it to be the only way to cure myself of the aberrant cycles of heightened cortical activity. The healers on Vulcan confirmed your prognosis. The episodes were beginning to cause physical damage to my brain.”

“It wasn’t the only way though,” said McCoy. “You could’ve come back to me.”

“I considered that, but--”

“But what? You might’ve had to admit to needing somebody? You might’ve had to admit to liking what we had together? You might’ve had to admit that you had engaged in something so disgustingly Human? That you maybe even liked it down here in the muck with us lesser beings?” McCoy could hear the tension building in his voice.

“I was never disgusted. I did like what we had together,” said Spock. “Why do you insist on speaking of it in such ugly terms?”

“Because you chose to throw it away!” he shouted – snapping, snarling, and angry. “You chose to erase it rather than just let me help you! _Nothing_ I had to offer was as good as your damned logic! I let you into my body and my mind and my goddamned heart...” McCoy put a hand over his eyes and gripped his temples, trying to stem the tide as anger became hurt.

“Doctor… Leonard… Your generosity touched me deeply. I wanted to go to you, but I could not rely on your kindness forever. Eventually, something would separate us – circumstances would arise, or you would simply grow weary of me.” Spock placed his hand on McCoy’s forearm where his sleeve covered the skin, and gently pulled his hand away from his face. He looked into McCoy’s eyes.

McCoy couldn’t even comprehend the idea of growing _weary_ of Spock. And even if he had, did Spock have so little faith in him?

“You know that I would never leave you if you needed me,” said McCoy.

“I do know that. I did not wish you to remain with me out of a sense of obligation. Nor did I want you to think that I remained with you merely for the benefit to myself.”

“So _kolinahr_ looked like your best choice.”

“It appeared to be my only choice,” said Spock. “I believed that it would bring me peace, if nothing else. I grieved for all that I would lose, but I saw no other option.”

“Okay, fine,” said McCoy. “You had your reasons for trying to attain _kolinahr_. I don’t agree with them, I don’t like them, but I… understand them, I guess. It doesn’t change the fact that what you did hurt like hell. After you left, I wasn’t sure what was real. You seemed as moved as I was by... our time together, but you ended it so easily. You said you wouldn’t cause me pain lightly, but it hurt so damned much. You say now that it wasn’t something you did lightly, and I believe you, but your letter was… You didn’t tell me any of this at the time.”

“I couldn’t say what I felt,” said Spock. “I regret it, and I regret not consulting you, but I didn’t think I could go through with submitting myself for the training if I contacted you directly.”

“I sure as hell would have done my damnedest to talk you out of it.” McCoy rubbed at back of his neck and stared at the floor, wondering if this conversation was going to help him make a decision or not.

“I went into the Forge thinking that I was aware of the path I would take,” said Spock.

McCoy looked up. Spock was once again standing with his hands clasped behind him.

“I was mistaken, but the path that opened before me has shown me what I am. I am not entirely Vulcan. I am not entirely Human. I am myself. What is truly illogical is to continue to feel ashamed of my nature. Melding with V’ger allowed me to achieve true _kolinahr_. For one moment, all logic and knowledge were laid out before me, and they were meaningless by themselves. I had finally succeeded in purging every feeling, and that was the moment in which I realized that they were necessary to me. I finally understood. It has made me whole. The irony is that I had to lose you – I had to lose everyone – in order to know how essential you are to me.”

Once again, they just stood there, looking at each other.

“Leonard, if you would permit me, I wish to prove myself worthy of your trust and affection again.”

“You want a second chance?” asked McCoy, surprised that Spock would just come right out and say it.

“Please,” said Spock.

“A lot’s happened.”

Spock stiffened.

“Don’t get me wrong,” McCoy went on. “I’d like that too. I came here hoping to see if we could patch things up, to be honest. But things happened while we were apart – to both of us. I have a device implanted in my brain, for one thing.”

“An implant?”

“It monitors my brain,” said McCoy. “It treats imbalances of certain neurotransmitters, among other things. It treats anxiety and it should keep me from having another depressive episode.”

“I caused this suffering.”

“You triggered this suffering. There were multiple causes.”

“I truly did not expect to hurt you so deeply,” said Spock “I would like to understand.”

“You want to know how you could have miscalculated?”

“I am aware of how I miscalculated. I wish to understand what you felt.”

“I could show you. Hell, I want to show you, but I need to know why you want to… be intimate again, because this is pretty intimate stuff.”

“We prospered together, Leonard. I believe that we would prosper again. Perhaps more so than before.”

McCoy considered this. They _had_ prospered. Spock wanted a second chance. Spock had requested affection, by name. That was certainly… something. The question was – did he trust Spock?

“All right.” McCoy walked over to the bed. He sat on it and held out his hand. “Let’s catch up.”

Spock’s eyebrows shot upward in surprise. “Is this wise?”

“In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve proven over and over that I can have faith in you. Abandoning me to go meditate in the sand was big, but it was also a big exception. I think you’ve earned the right to a second chance,” said McCoy. “I can also practically hear all of the words we can’t say buzzing around this room like mosquitoes. I suppose we could spend the next months – or years – trying to figure out how to say them, but that seems pretty illogical when we have another form of communication literally at our fingertips.”

So Spock took McCoy’s hand, and he shared with him the monastery in the sands, the words of the masters, V’ger calling to him and the answering tug of despair over knowing neither the question nor the answer, the emptiness at seeing the _Enterprise_ and her crew, the glorious and barren mind of V’ger, and waking to see McCoy, the rush of emotions – familiarity, comfort, affection, longing – too fast to process. In return, he accepted the pain and the numbing cold, the memories that came when McCoy least wanted them, the doctor and the girl and the father and the work that helped him recover, the rush of being home on the _Enterprise_ even though he had thought that it could never be home again.

At some point, McCoy stood and stripped off his clothes down to his skivvies. He pulled the cover of the bed back.

“Big spoon or little spoon?”

“Flatware analogies, Doctor?” said Spock, also disrobing.

Spock climbed into the bed, sliding over as far as possible and lying on his side, facing the wall. McCoy climbed in behind and curled his body around Spock’s. And they slept.

 

***

 

“You thought I’d get tired of you. I still can’t believe it,” said McCoy, shaking his head.

“It is in the nature of Humans to crave novelty,” said Spock.

“I don’t see how I could find anyone more novel than the galaxy’s oldest living Vulcan/Human hybrid, Spock. You’ve got novelty coming out your pointy green ears.”

He kissed the nearest of those appendages.

“I’ve always suspected it was my ears,” said Spock.

“Well, that and the fact that I find you...”

“Yes?”

“...fascinating,” said McCoy.


	3. Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A proposal and an announcement.

“Do you wish to do this somewhere other than the garden today?” asked Spock.

“No, I like the garden. It seems like the right place for this.” McCoy smiled. Spock had kept McCoy in mind while making many of the choices in the renovation of their house – a full Terran-style kitchen, environmental controls that made it possible to vary the oxygen level as well as the temperature and humidity – but nowhere more so than in the central garden. He had planned it years before even acquiring the house. It was gratifying to him that McCoy was still pleased by it.

Spock seated himself on the bench and pulled McCoy into the space between his legs. McCoy leaned back and kissed Spock. Their minds touched. After so many years, it took more effort to keep their minds apart than to make this connection...

[ _ocean meets sky, order and chaos, storms and stars, bitter and sweet_ ]

...but back to the task at hand.

“I believe we left off right after we’d saved the world,” said McCoy. “Not that I did much on that one. It was mostly you and Jim. I was just tagging along.”

“You and I had chosen to resume our former relationship,” said Spock.

“We were boyfriends again, you mean.”

“Of all the inaccurate, distasteful phrases that Humans delight in inventing, that is the worst.”

“Seems perfectly serviceable to me,” said McCoy, laughing at his husband’s annoyance.

“We were not juveniles, nor were we strictly friends.”

“Associates?”

“We were lovers, Doctor, even if I wasn’t quite ready to use the term.”

“I’m not sure I was either, especially when I was contemplating introducing you to my dad.”

 

***

 

“Out there, thataway,” Kirk had said, but Starfleet preferred its ends to be tied up a bit more neatly. They returned to Earth, where Kirk made an eloquent case for his reinstatement as commander of the _Enterprise_ for her next five-year mission, and an equally convincing argument that his original command staff were essential to that vessel’s continued success.

McCoy assured Admiral Nagura that he was content to stay with Starfleet, even though he technically could only be “drafted” in an emergency situation. Spock expressed his wish to return to his duties as well. There were many, many forms to fill out, including one that stated that Spock understood that he needed to make suitable arrangements for _pon farr_ , but eventually they got it all squared away.

McCoy closed up the house near Savannah, and informed the practice there that he would not be returning. He found an old reflex hammer in a box of antique medical instruments. He sent that to Julia. He and his father went out for one last long, leisurely lunch.

“How’d you like to fly back to San Francisco with me, Dad? See me off?”

“You know I hate flying,” said David.

“Yeah, I know.”

“So why this time? You’ve never asked me before.”

McCoy shrugged. “I thought maybe you might like to meet my friends.”

David considered this. It was a short flight; it wouldn’t kill him to go. And Leonard wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important. “Alright.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, what time?”

“10:30 tomorrow morning.” McCoy grinned.

David McCoy was right – no one perished on the trip to San Francisco – glowered a lot, maybe, but everyone survived. Leonard McCoy dropped off the totes of books and things he would be taking with him at the appropriate transporter station, and they walked over to Kirk’s office.

Kirk was delighted to see McCoy’s father again. The command staff of the _Enterprise_ were to be meeting for lunch, and Kirk insisted that David couldn’t go back to Georgia without sampling the cioppino. “It’s the best in San Francisco. Not many civilians get the opportunity.”

So they headed over to the commissary. Sulu joined them along the way, and they met Uhura and Chapel just as they were walking in. Spock, Scotty, and Chekov joined them a few minutes later. Kirk regaled the elder McCoy with stories about their adventures, carefully keeping to the funny parts and avoiding anything that might be too illustrative of how dangerous things could get.

“...So I’ve got Sulu running around the ship, half-naked, challenging people to sword fights and trying to defend Uhura’s honor while Riley’s holed up in the engine room, singing ‘I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen’ over the intercom – which we couldn’t turn off. Lucky for us, Bones managed to come up with a cure.”

“You didn’t get infected?” David asked his son.

“It wasn’t easy, what with Miss Soggy, here,” said McCoy, indicating Chapel.

“So I’m a weepy drunk,” she said. “At least I didn’t lose Mr. Spock’s brain.”

“That wasn’t me. I was minding my own business in sickbay when that happened,” said McCoy. “And furthermore, I might remind you that I was the one who put his brain back where it belongs.”

“It was a most harrowing experience,” said Spock. “However, Dr. McCoy once again defied all logic, reason, and probability to accomplish what can only be described as a medical miracle.”

“I ain’t sure if that’s a compliment or an insult,” said McCoy.

Spock appeared to seriously contemplate the question.

“Well, miracles are my department,” said Scotty, standing and setting his napkin aside. “And it’ll be a miracle if I get everything done before we leave orbit tomorrow. Departure time is 0600 hours.”

Kirk looked around the table – “Well, you heard the man. No late nights tonight, I’m afraid.” The party broke up then, everyone heading off to take care of last-minute details.

The McCoys headed back to the shuttle station. They were almost there when David asked, “So, which one is it?”

“Which one is what, Dad?”

“Which one are you sweet on?”

McCoy pursed his lips for a second, then said, “Spock.”

David laughed. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that! He doesn’t seem like your type.”

McCoy laughed too. “What can I say? He’s grown on me over the years.”

“So whatever went wrong – I’m not going to pry – but whatever it was, you got it taken care of?”

“Yeah, Dad. I think we did.”

 

***

 

“He told me once that he liked the two of us together,” said McCoy. “He said that he could tell that we would always take care of each other.”

“I was just thinking of how different he was from my father, but Sarek once said something very similar. He said that we were ‘admirably diligent’ in our duty to one another.”

[ _the longing of a child’s heart_ ]

Spock tucked his head next to McCoy’s. [ _peace_ ] He spoke softly. “It required a few months to acclimate to one another again. Two and a half years is a lengthy separation, and we had both changed.”

“I had a longer fuse with the anxiety under control. I could feel you bracing for tirades that didn’t always come. I didn’t even realize how bad I’d been until I noticed you noticing.”

“I enjoy our discussions, even when they become heated. I find them to be invigorating,” said Spock.

[ _from the beginning it has been a delight to sharpen my mind against yours_ ]

“I can’t say as I don’t enjoy it too, but I stepped over the line more than once,” said McCoy.

[ _we both did_ ]

“If there was anything to forgive, it was forgiven long ago,” said Spock.

McCoy huffed out a laugh. “Fair enough.”

“You also became less cautious as it became apparent to you that I no longer found my emotions to be traumatic.”

“I got mushy, you mean.”

“A little. No more than was reasonable.”

[ _Spock is planting this very garden._ _The flower is call_ _ed_ _‘qessaria.’ It comes from the Trill homeworl_ _d._ _It_ _has broad green leaves and_ _once it had_ _tiny blue flowers the shape of a five-pointed star. As he_ _has_ _surmised, this plant_ _is_ _root bound._ _He waters it thoroughly, then removes it from its pot with great care. He works his fingers gently into the winding roots,_ _de_ _tangling and spreading them out as much as possible before_ _re_ _planting it in its own raised bed._ _Now it spills_ _down the stone border, a waterfall of blue stars. It smells like thyme. McCoy_ _often_ _stops to sniff it when he walks by._ ]

 

***

 

Spock stood by the aft window in the officers’ lounge of the _Enterprise_. He was waiting for McCoy, whose usual habit was to come here after he had finished with whatever extra tasks he saw fit to complete once his duty hours were over. Spock consulted the time. If McCoy had not already left the sickbay of his own accord, Dr. Chapel would insist that he leave and partake of some form of recreation soon.

While he waited, Spock watched the stars and reflected on the changes in his life over the last few months. Striking a balance between emotion and logic had been, and would no doubt continue to be challenging, but there was no denying that the effort had been worthwhile. It was, quite simply, an immense relief to no longer expend energy on trying to force his mind into a mold which it could never fit.

McCoy had been of great assistance during this time. Kirk had been correct, years ago, to recommend that Spock turn to the doctor when he had questions pertaining to emotions. McCoy was an adept and patient guide in this area, even though he went to great lengths not to appear so. It seemed illogical to him, but Spock accepted that McCoy was McCoy, and he suspected that had been the point all along.

As liberating as it had been to embrace his Humanity, though, there was still a part of him that was very Vulcan. He needed to secure a mate. _Pon Farr_ would occur again in approximately one and one-quarter years.

“The nacelles are beautiful this time of night,” said McCoy, settling into one of the couches.

“Your ability to find a new inanity with which to open every conversation never ceases to amaze me, Doctor.”

McCoy shrugged. “It’s a gift. Still, you’re not one for admiring views. What’s on your mind?”

Spock sat in the chair opposite McCoy, steepling his long fingers under his chin. They were alone due to the lateness of the hour, and there was no point in delaying this conversation. “I have been contemplating the fact that I will likely undergo _pon farr_ in a little over a year.”

“I see.”

Spock was unsure how to approach this. On Vulcan, he would not have been directly involved in resolving this matter. There were certain protocols that were usually observed on Earth as well, but he didn’t know what they were, and he was sure that, if he did know, he would have found many of them deeply discomfiting. Perhaps the direct approach was best. McCoy, for all his emotionalism, did seem to prefer it.

“I would like to take you as my mate at that time.”

“Is this a… are you proposing marriage to me, Spock?”

“Indeed. Our association has proven to be mutually beneficial.”

“Yes, I’d say it has,” said McCoy.

Spock paused for a moment, looking for some way to convey what he felt. McCoy had taken the trouble to find logical reasons to start this, Spock could find at least one sentimental reason for legitimizing it.

“There are words that a Vulcan says to his spouse when they are joined in _pon farr_. I cannot conceive of saying those words to another being but you. I want to share that experience with you at the sacred place set aside for it, but that won’t be allowed if we haven’t observed the proper rituals.”

“Like being ‘betrothed,’ the way you and T’Pring were.”

“Yes.”

“I see, sort of. And if we don’t get married, what would you do about _pon farr?”_

“You and I could still be intimate here at that time. We would then be considered married, but unless we could prove that we had no other course of action, I would likely be shut out of ever observing the full ritual on Vulcan. If you do not wish to marry me, there are those on Vulcan who would assist me. It would satisfy the requirements of my body.”

“But you’re more than a body. And if I joined you in the full ceremony, that would fulfill... deeper requirements?”

“Indeed.”

“Just wanted to be sure what I was saying ‘yes’ to. Consider yourself engaged.”

Spock actually smiled.

“You know we’re going to have to tell Jim now, right?” said McCoy.

 

 

“You want to do what?” asked Kirk.

“Get married, hitched, tie the knot,” said McCoy.

“To each other?”

“That is the idea, Captain,” said Spock.

They were in Kirk’s quarters.

“I’m… not sure… what to say,” he paused, settling back into his chair and crossing his arms. “‘Congratulations?’ or ‘About time?’” Kirk was grinning insufferably. “Really, gentlemen, how long was I supposed to pretend that you weren’t flouting the regulations against fraternization?”

“We have not violated any regulations, Jim,” said Spock.

“A few sternly-worded admonitions, maybe, but no regulations,” added McCoy. Then to Spock, “And I told you half the ship already knows.”

“Still, Starfleet will be happier when you make honest men of each other. So when’s the big day?” asked Kirk.

“We will be transporting some of the Andorian crew members of Starbase 12 back to their home planet in seven weeks. That will take us in proximity to Vulcan,” said Spock.

“You want to be married on Vulcan?”

“It will be somewhat less than a marriage --”

“But somewhat more than a betrothal,” Kirk finished.

“The betrothal contract is flexible. Ours will be worded in such a way that it will be understood that the doctor and I are married in all ways except the completion of… the final ritual. Since a contract that is binding on one Federation world is binding throughout the Federation, this ceremony will suffice as a legal marriage for the purposes of Starfleet until then.”

“I see. You’ve got everything all planned out?”

“Almost,” said McCoy. “Will you be my best man, Jim? I won the coin toss.”

“I’d love to, Bones.”

“Great!” McCoy grinned.

“If you will excuse me,” said Spock, “my duty shift begins in three minutes.”

“Of course, Spock,” said Kirk, “and congratulations again.”

“Thank you, Jim.” Spock nodded and left.

“How about you, Bones? Got anything pressing?”

“I’m not on duty right now, but I do have a lot of charting...”

“Sit.”

McCoy sighed and took a chair, crossing his legs and folding his arms across his chest. Kirk leaned against his desk.

“I ask myself, ‘Now, why wouldn’t my two best friends tell me that they’re seeing each other? Why would they keep that a secret right up until they announce their engagement?’ I can understand Spock not saying anything. He’d rather be subjected to Klingon opera than discuss his emotional state or, heaven forbid, his sex life. But you, Bones? I thought we were closer than that.”

“You know we’re close, Jim. It’s just… well, it’s kind of hard to explain.”

“Try me.” Kirk smiled.

“At first, we weren’t really sure where it was going. Spock is… Spock. And I didn’t want to make things awkward… well, more awkward, if it didn’t work out. Then it didn’t work out.”

“ _Kolinahr._ ”

“Yeah. It seemed pointless to bring it up after that.”

Kirk got off the desk and sat in the other chair. The look on his face was so… sad. McCoy was certain that Kirk was going to bring up Atlanta, but he didn’t, and his expression shifted back to his usual genial smirk.

“Obviously you two got back together – and fairly quickly, I might add.”

“That doesn’t mean that we knew where it was going.”

“Okay,” said Kirk. “But you know where it’s going now.”

“He only proposed to me last night.”

Kirk just cocked an eyebrow at McCoy.

“Okay, fine. I didn’t want to jinx it.”

“You what?”

“Jinx it. I… felt like if it was a secret, then nothing could touch it. For god’s sake, don’t tell Spock.”

Kirk chuckled. “Look, I know better than anyone that Dr. Leonard ‘Heart on His Sleeve’ McCoy is a persona that only goes so deep. When it really means something to you, you play it pretty close to the vest.”

“I was going to tell you before it got to this point, I really was,” said McCoy. “I didn’t expect Spock to propose so soon.”

“So you did expect him to propose?”

“I expected him to bring it up, anyway. His biological clock _is_ ticking.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” said Kirk.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

McCoy leaned back in his chair. “So how’d you find out?”

“You spent fourteen hours in his quarters the day after the V’ger incident.”

“And that led you to believe that we were..?”

“...Spending one hell of a lot of time together.”

“Yeah.”

“Plus, he programmed eight separate food synthesizer cards with your favorites, and added a subroutine for hot sauce to the _plomeek_ broth card. I’m pretty sure that’s high romance to a Vulcan.”

“Eight? I only knew of seven. Are you sure?” asked McCoy.

Kirk laughed. “Specialist Dlamini assures me that Spock’s programming code is quite distinctive.”

“I’m sure it is.” McCoy stood. “Look Jim, I wasn’t kidding about the charting, so if you’re done grilling me now..?”

“Yeah. Go on.” Kirk stood also.

McCoy got almost to the door when Kirk stopped him. “Hey, Bones. One more thing.”

McCoy turned. “Yeah?”

“Are you happy?”

“Yeah.” McCoy smiled softly. “Yeah, I am.”

 

 

It didn’t take Kirk long to corner Spock. He simply halted the turbolift the next time they were in it alone together.

“Yes, Jim?” There was no logic in pretending that he didn’t know exactly what this was about.

“Is it logical for you to propose to Dr. McCoy?”

“Emminently so.”

“Care to explain?”

“I am bonded to him, therefore it is logical that I should seek to formalize that bond.”

“I see. And was it logical to become bonded to him?”

“Clearly, or I would not have done it.”

Kirk folded his arms and leaned against the wall. The look he gave Spock plainly stated that he could wait here all day.

“I found that he and I are remarkably compatible.” Spock looked directly at Kirk. “We enhance one another’s well-being.”

Kirk smiled. “Okay, then.” He restarted the turbolift.

 

***

 

“I didn’t know,” said McCoy.

“I didn’t wish you to know,” said Spock.

“If I’d known you had already bonded to me… if I’d known that was even _possible_.”

“You might have acted from other motivations. I preferred that you accept my proposal for your own happiness, or that you not accept it all.”

“And if I’d said no?” asked McCoy.

“Some risk is unavoidable in these matters. Perhaps that is why Humans usually make these decisions while they are insane, so that they cannot adequately assess the dangers.”

“There might be something to that.” McCoy shook his head. “Poor Jim. We really threw him for a loop.”

“As the person you chose to stand with you at our betrothal, it was his duty to question our motives,” said Spock.

“I suppose your parents questioned yours.”

“I required a mate. My father thought that you were a suitable choice. He has always said that you are intelligent, competent, and admirably capable of assessing situations and arriving at solutions. He was a little dismayed by your willingness to prevaricate when it suits your purposes. Mother argued that you had saved the lives of both her husband and her child and that she didn’t care how you managed it. Their opinion of you has always been favorable.”

“I’d thought that T’Pau’s opinion of me was favorable as well, but she sure had an objection.”

“You are aware that it was not you that she objected to, it was the nature of our connection. It was not, _is_ not the Vulcan way to indulge in affection for its own sake.”

 

***

 

“Nerves, Bones?”

McCoy quit pacing the small courtyard. They were waiting just off of the main garden of Sarek and Amanda’s home on Vulcan.

“Why does T’Pau suddenly need a confab with Spock before we can do this? Everything was supposed to be settled.”

“She probably just wants to make sure that there won’t be any bloodshed this time.”

McCoy scowled at Kirk. He hated him for looking all comfy in his dress uniform as he leaned up against the wall, arms folded, stupidly smirking. McCoy was pretty sure this Vulcan get-up was going to kill him.

“How do they wear this many layers of clothing in a desert?”

“I don’t think it was meant for pacing in a sun-baked courtyard at noon. Besides, you look great. The purple really brings out your eyes.”

McCoy looked positively thunderous at this. “Smug bastard.”

“Sit down,” said Kirk. “Before you give me heatstroke just from watching you.”

McCoy sat on the wooden bench and clenched his jaw.

Kirk sat on the bench beside him. “I’ll marry the two of you myself, if she won’t,”

“Thanks. That’s pretty much the back-up plan,” said McCoy, relaxing slightly. “We’re going to get married, T’Pau or no T’Pau. It just pisses me off when they do this – when they make him prove that he’s Vulcan enough.”

“I know what you mean, Bones.”

McCoy regarded Kirk for a few moments. “Yeah, I suppose you do,” said McCoy.

They knew Spock, his struggles and his worth, far better than T’Pau did.

McCoy shook it off. “I suppose I do look pretty good in this thing,” he said with a grin. He held out one arm, looking at the variegated grey pattern that almost obscured the dark purple background. “It was nice of Amanda to get it for me.”

“It was her pleasure.” Amanda Grayson came sailing into the courtyard, looking cool and regal in her own formal Vulcan robes. “Spock said you wouldn’t want to be married in your dress uniform.”

McCoy smiled.

“That’s how they get you, you know,” she said. “They know all these little details about you and they apply them when you least expect it.”

“Beware of Vulcan wiles?” said Kirk.

“Something like that,” said Amanda. “By the way, they’re ready for you now.”

 

 

Meanwhile, Spock had gone to speak with T’Pau immediately.

He also found the task before him distasteful, although he understood T’Pau’s concerns better than his Human companions did.

It was true that he wished to be allowed to celebrate his marriage on Vulcan, but it was not only for himself that he did this. If T’Pau accepted his reasoning, it would set a precedent for those who came after him, the younger Vulcan/Human hybrids. It would do much to cement their status as full members of Vulcan society despite their inevitable “eccentricities.”

Of course, T’Pau knew that too.

T’Pau was seated on a bench in the garden. Spock offered the traditional gesture of greeting, and she returned it. “Live long and prosper, Spock.”

“Live long and prosper, T’Pau,” he returned, bowing deeply.

She held out her hand. “Give me your thoughts.”

He came nearer to her and knelt on one knee, allowing the meld. He showed her what she wished to know, and it was conducted quickly. T’Pau gestured for Spock to stand.

“It appears that I made a mistake in advising you to pursue _kolinahr._ ”

“On the contrary, the ritual did lead me to an answer.”

“But not the answer you sought.”

“Sometimes the seeking shows us another question. I know myself more fully now, therefore the seeking was not in vain.”

T’Pau nodded. “I sense that you are more at peace within yourself, Spock.”

“Indeed. I have found that embracing my emotions has made them easier to control.”

“It is not the Vulcan way.”

“It is, however, my way.”

“And now you wish to marry the Terran, McCoy, with whom you transgress? I do not see the wisdom in countenancing it.”

“Will you deny me my Vulcan heritage because I have a Human one as well? You say that it is a transgression, but the emotional bond I share with McCoy is an honored one among Humans. Indeed, it is considered essential to their well-being, and I am Human enough that I have found it essential to my own. To have done otherwise would be to transgress against myself.”

T’Pau considered Spock’s words at length. Finally, she spoke. “My logic was predicated on an error. I was unaware of the degree to which you are influenced by your Human biology. You seek to honor the heritage of your Terran ancestors, not to undermine the ways of Vulcan. This union shall take place with my blessing.”

Spock bowed again, and left the garden to inform the others that the ceremony could begin.

 

 

McCoy and Spock knelt opposite each other. Kirk stood behind McCoy and Spock’s parents stood behind Spock. T’Pau officiated from her position at the apex of their little triangle.

“What ye are about to witness comes down from the time of the beginning without change. This is the Vulcan heart and soul. This is our way,” T’Pau intoned.

Spock held out his right hand, first two fingers extended. McCoy took a deep breath and met Spock’s fingers with his own.

The emotions were liquid, as thick and as warm as blood. McCoy grasped the metaphor instantly. [ _this_ _is the essence of my_ _heart_ ] Keeping his face carefully neutral, McCoy concentrated on his answer. [ _his own heart swelling, vast, cracking open, taking in all that Spock gave and giving back in kind_ ]

“Two bodies, one mind,” said T’Pau. She touched Spock’s face lightly with her fingers above and below his left eye, her thumb to his jaw.

Holding her fingers in the same position, T’pau then moved her hand to McCoy’s face.

They were aware of a third mind – T’Pau, carefully shielded, observing their connection. As the officiant, it was her duty to connect their minds, but nothing remained for her to do here. [ _the life_ _and thought and emotion already flowing thick and metallic between them_ ] T’pau could only add benediction. [ _light_ _and air, a dry wind,_ _the strangeness acknowledged but accepted_ ]

“As it was in the beginning, so shall it be now.”

 

 

Back in their quarters on the _Enterprise,_ Spock placed a ring in the palm of McCoy’s hand. It was made of two metals – one a dull, deep olive, and the other shinier and silvery – layered and twisted together until they resembled wood grain.

“A ring?” asked McCoy.

“It is your custom,” said Spock.

There was an inscription, in Vulcan, on the inside.

“What’s it say?”

Spock cleared his throat. “It is from the ritual of _pon farr. ‘To you, my husband, I consecrate all that I am._ ’ _”_

“The words you didn’t want to say to anyone else.” McCoy put the ring on.

“Yes.”

“There’s something in my eye,” said McCoy, grabbing a handful of Spock’s robes and pulling him closer.

“Indeed.” Spock kissed McCoy, felt McCoy’s reaction to the gift. [ _sunlight on water, sparkling, pleased,_ _moved, the heart again – swelling, cracks filled with light_ ]

Spock tried to understand this metaphor. An accelerated heart rate and the resulting need for more oxygen caused a tight sensation – as if the chest were suddenly inadequate to contain the heart and lungs. Even though McCoy also knew perfectly well that this was just a reaction to certain chemicals in his brain, he still experienced it as a thing of mystical gravity. “What do you think emotions _are_ , Spock?” he’d once said. “It’s all chemicals and physical responses. That doesn’t make them any less meaningful.” But a cracked heart, a broken heart, that signified loss. How did that fit?

He asked McCoy for clarity. [ _the cracked heart, curiosity_ ]

He could feel McCoy searching, deciding. It was important to him that Spock understand.

[ _faces – his dead mother, Nancy and Natira, other loves lost, each one a blow, the patients_ _who died_ _as he struggled to save them, the ones to whom he could only offer drugs and a hand to hold and the solace of not dying alone, the pain and the fear that others brought to him, the results of violence and cruelty or the indifference of the universe, each a crack in his heart, the blood pouring out, the breaking when Spock sought_ kolinahr, _his heart a bloody and mangled thing that he continues to offer up – to those who come to him with their own hurts, to those he loves, to Kirk, to Spock – knowing the risk, knowing the certainty, of further blows and further cracks, doing it anyway_ _, doing it because broken is soft, elastic, expansive_ ]

Spock held McCoy, his cheek pressed to McCoy’s temple. This went beyond what McCoy felt. It went down to the core of who he was and how he chose to interact with the universe. It was perverse, and brave, and illogical. It was the principle behind McCoy’s most troubling, and most admirable, behavior. Spock could not change this.

[ _Spock wills the stars into existence, light to see by, light to fill the sky, he offers light, feels McCoy’s_ _acknowledgment,_ _this light is peaceful and healing_ _to him, fills the cracks,_ _McCoy will break these patches, spill his heart’s blood again and again and again, Spock accepts this, vows light and music and peace again and again and again_ ]

Spock could feel McCoy’s response, but this emotion was too complex for him to name. Whatever it was, it was resolving itself into tenderness and desire, and Spock was content to follow this shift. He could meditate on the rest later.

Right now there was another Human marriage custom that he wanted to observe. He stepped back and began to remove his clothing. McCoy did the same, cursing a bit at the unfamiliar fasteners. Spock had pulled back the spread, taken the bottle of lubricant from the bedside drawer, and was kneeling on the bed by the time McCoy got it figured out and managed to shed the “damn thing.”

This bed was larger than the old single bed it had replaced, but there was still only one lamp over the head of it. The fixture was angled outward so that it bathed the entire bed in a soft oval of light. McCoy was standing in the shadowy space beyond. The connection was weakened by distance, so it took Spock a second to realize that McCoy was watching him – McCoy was enjoying the sight of Spock, nude and sitting back on his heels, legs spread in a ‘V’, penis full and heavy but not quite completely erect.

It was not unusual for McCoy to take a moment to visually appreciate Spock’s body. It was an aspect of partnered sex that Spock had not been entirely prepared for – the multiplicity of ways that two people can revel in each other had proven to be more numerous than he had anticipated. Experimentally, Spock slid his hand from his knee to his upper thigh, stopping just short of his genitals. He felt the wave of yearning from McCoy, saw what McCoy would like to see. Spock cupped his testicles, then stroked his cock from base to tip, allowing it to fall from his fingers, and placing his hand back on his knee. McCoy growled softly. Gratifying, but what Spock wanted tonight definitely included touching. He poured a bit of the lubricant across his first two fingers, and used his thumb to spread it over them.

What he wanted was to open McCoy slowly, carefully, keeping away from the sensitive organ that Human males have deep inside. He wanted to watch McCoy bite his lip, wanted to watch his skin flush, see him arch and strain and gasp, hear his name on McCoy’s tongue. He wanted to make McCoy needy, wanted to be caught up in that current himself.

Just forming these thoughts was enough to elicit a response from McCoy. He climbed onto the bed and lay back among the pillows, knees bent, legs wide, giving Spock access, granting him control. Spock leaned forward, kissing McCoy’s mouth, then his nipple as he stroked one lubricated finger across McCoy’s entrance.

Spock continued kissing his way down McCoy’s body [ _ribs, belly, hip bone,_ _crease of the groin_ ] as he pressed his finger inside [ _breached, entered, the slightest sting gone before it even registers, filled and pleasured,_ _bliss coalescing slowly at the base of his spine_ ].

Spock carefully avoided too much contact, touching McCoy only with his hand and his lips. He meticulously gauged every response, using his mouth to enhance or distract from the finger now languidly gliding in and out of McCoy’s body. [ _his tongue slipping into his mouth, a pulsing sucking pull to match the lazy rhythm set low in his body, a sharp nip to the armpit, small licks following, the escalation interrupted, then slowly building again_ ]

Spock sucked a mark at the juncture between McCoy’s neck and shoulder as he eased another finger in [ _and in but not in enough_ ]. McCoy’s penis was hard enough now that it levitated above his belly. The tip of it was exposed and a little pool of liquid had gathered beneath it. Spock ran the thumb of his free hand through the clear pool and brought it to his mouth. McCoy groaned [ _a thumb cradled on a tongue, a sucking mouth, the salt and bitter and sweet_ ], voicing their shared pleasure.

Spock sat back again on his heels, his only physical contact with McCoy now was the two fingers inside him. McCoy, by this point, was utterly abandoned to want – pliant and plaintive.

“Spock.” [ _his name is a plea,_ _yes and please and more,_ _needy_ ]

Spock bent down and took the tip of McCoy’s penis into his mouth. McCoy flinched and whimpered at the sensation [ _warm wet s_ _ilky_ ]. Spock stilled his fingers and held the terminal inch of McCoy’s flesh quietly on his tongue. Then, keeping his tongue soft and wet, he gently pushed McCoy’s foreskin back and licked light circles against the head. [ _enveloping liquid heat, tongue flicking sparks and writing pleasure against this small center of the universe_ ]

Spock doubted that his own prodigious self-control would last much longer. He was taking them both apart. He slid his mouth down McCoy’s penis, taking it entirely in, the head sliding smoothly into his throat. He pulled back until, once more only the tip lay in his mouth. Again, he took McCoy in, but this time he slipped his fingers deeper, pressing and stroking against the nerves that he had been avoiding [ _and the universe_ _imp_ _l_ _oding_ _into dark warm chaos and pleasure more than flesh and nerves can support, then everything flying outward, resolving into light and eros, into_ _thick_ _saltwater_ _and heat_ ] Spock swallowed the warm liquid of McCoy’s ejaculation even as his own splashed against his thigh.

Spock was kneeling, his forehead resting just above McCoy’s hipbone, waiting for his body to decide that it was, indeed, receiving the required amount of oxygen. He could feel McCoy… petting the back of his head as if he were a _seh_ _lat,_ or one of those blood-thirsty little animals humans call ‘cats.’ [ _contentment, joy, affection_ ] From McCoy? Or from himself?

“Could be both,” said McCoy.

“Mmmmm.”

Eventually, Spock sat up. The cover was a mess. For that matter, so was his left thigh and a portion of his stomach. He used a clean section of the blanket to wipe himself off, then stood up and took it to the laundry unit. He got a clean spread from a cupboard near the bed and shook it out. He lay down on the bed and covered them both, fitting himself against the curve of McCoy’s back.

[ _home_ ]

 

***

 

McCoy twisted the ring on his left hand, smiling at their memories.

Spock leaned his head forward and kissed the warm, loose skin at the side of McCoy’s neck.

[ _home_ ]


	4. Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Starfleet, even the calm before the storm can look a little hectic.

“So some stuff happened, and we went back to Vulcan for  _pon farr_ , right?” asked McCoy.

They had already fallen into a routine of practicing the ritual on the bench in the courtyard, right after lunch each day. McCoy had insisted on another turn as the “big spoon.”

“I believe that what you characterize as ‘some stuff’ would be our actual missions,” said Spock.

“Your missions, maybe. My mission was to fix everyone who got damaged on your missions.”

“May I remind you that Jim insisted on your presence for at least half of those missions.”

“And I still don’t understand why,” said McCoy. “Look, Spock, we’ve known each other for a hundred years by Terran reckoning, and we’ve spent three-quarters of that time traipsing around space. If we try to remember every rock we’ve ever left our boot-prints on, we’ll be here for a hundred more.”

[ _time is passing_ ]

Spock turned and pressed a kiss to McCoy’s mouth. “You are correct. We should attempt to stay focused.”

 

***

 

Spock and McCoy had adjusted to sharing quarters with only a few hiccups. There was just one cabin for married personnel near sickbay, and Dr. Hafiz already shared it with her wife and husband, so Scotty had sent a couple of crewmen to carve them out new quarters by joining McCoy’s existing quarters to the smaller officer’s quarters next door. They also added part of a large medical supply storage closet beyond that. McCoy and Spock lived, for the most part, in McCoy’s original room. The smaller cabin became Spock’s office, and the storage closet became an alcove for meditation.

The day after the betrothal ceremony, Spock moved his things from his old quarters to the new ones.

“Jim, the man must have three dozen curtains.” McCoy had retreated to the officers’ lounge while Spock performed some kind of Vulcan _feng shui_ on their new living space.

“Three dozen, Bones?”

“And enough tchotchkes to fill a swap meet. And candles! On a starship! How is that logical?”

McCoy had to admit, though, that their quarters looked good. Most of Spock’s stuff had gone into his office and meditation space. Their shared rooms had just acquired a few pieces of art and a couple of knickknacks.

McCoy found a potted plant on Cait.  _Turra_ , the merchant called it. It had dark purple, almost black, leaves and the flowers reminded McCoy of heartsease. McCoy gave the plant to Spock. “I know you like pretty things. I thought you might enjoy it. If you don’t, you can send it down to Botany.” Spock did eventually have to send the plant to the Botany lab once it became too big for its shelf. McCoy replaced it with a flower he found at a market on Pacifica that reminded him of a gardenia.

As CMO, McCoy had been given the privilege of having a window in his quarters. It was surrounded by storage which created a window seat. They often spent down-time there – McCoy reading and Spock playing his lyre. It was very… domestic for a starship.

And domestic proved to be a nice respite from what was typically occurring on the rest of the ship.

A year on the  _Enterprise_ was never uneventful.

On a planet near Breen space, Chekov was declared the reincarnation of the Queen’s favorite husband. She sent him to work in one of the underground mycelium production facilities as a punishment for not returning to her sooner. Kirk suffered a violent allergic reaction to spores during the rescue mission.

An unidentified object near Talos turned out to be some kind of giant space egg. The pink and orange blob that hatched from it immediately imprinted on the  _Enterprise_. It followed them around for four days until they located its real parents.

A return visit to Gideon found the once disease-free populace decimated by Vegan choriomeningitis. McCoy and the rest of the medical team worked around the clock treating the sick, while the rest of the crew cremated the bodies of the dead and distributed food and water. The  _Enterprise_  stayed in orbit around the planet until an emergency team could arrive. Over three quarters of the population had died.

Sulu was diagnosed with a rare bone disorder and barely escaped undergoing a lengthy and painful sickbay stay when Scotty suddenly turned up pregnant. The diagnostic equipment on exam table four was discovered to be hosting a parasitic worm that fed on plasma energy.

There was a transporter malfunction involving a shipment of psychoactive compounds. Tropolisine was briefly released in the transporter room, exposing Rand. Kirk ordered her to sickbay immediately, but she turned out to be particularly susceptible to the compound. She held Drs. Hafiz and McCoy at phaser point for an hour before Kirk was able to create a diversion, allowing Spock to subdue her with a nerve-pinch. Afterward, Spock took McCoy to their quarters and pinned him to the bulkhead.

There were also the usual intrigues and politics, numerous run-ins and skirmishes with Klingons and Romulans, an outbreak of Ankaran flu, and once, the food synthesizer delivered nothing but tapioca pudding for three days running.

A month before Spock was due to begin  _pon farr,_ Kirk made sure to keep the  _Enterprise_  flying missions within a few days’ travel of Vulcan. Like T’Pau, Kirk wanted no repeat of any aspect of Spock’s last  _pon farr_.

As it was, they even had time to dress for the event. Not that McCoy was exactly thrilled about this. The only fasteners allowed to exist on Vulcan were tiny buttons, hidden ties, or big stabby pins, and robes worn for religious rituals had to be pleated just so. Kirk was greatly amused at the rather sparkly nature of the attire, though he wisely refrained from mentioning this within earshot of Spock, who was just a little testy right then.

“Yes, Jim. Tuxedos and archaic white ballgowns are not at all ridiculous.” McCoy was getting pretty testy himself. He could kind of see the charm of taking one of those bladed sticks to Kirk, now that he thought about it.

Finally, attendants hauled T’Pau and her sedan chair into the circle. Traditional greetings were exchanged. T’Pau did the bit about the Vulcan heart and soul again. Spock banged the gong and McCoy stepped up on the platform and held out his first two fingers. “ _Koon_ ,” he said, and Spock touched his own fingers to McCoy’s. There had been no question about McCoy declaring  _kal-if-fee_ , but he still fancied that he could hear a sigh of relief from those gathered here.

T’Pau raised her hand in the Vulcan salute. “Live long and prosper, Spock. Live long and prosper, McCoy.”

“Peace and long life, T’Pau.” They bowed, and were led from the circle. The public part of the  _koon-ut-kal-if-fee_  was over.

In the nearby cliff-face were carved two doorways. McCoy was led (slowly, sedately, glacially) to one, and Spock was led to the other. A tunnel led downward from each doorway to a central chamber. The place was filled with candles and tiny oil lamps. Some of them apparently were scented with  _gespar_  peel oil. The scent was citrusy and herbal – like bergamot and lavender. As with most things on Vulcan, the scent was meant to foster a sense of calm rationality. It wasn’t working.

There was just one more bit of ritual to get through. Damn, but it was hot in here. McCoy reminded himself that his own irritation was nothing compared to Spock’s suffering right now – just a telepathic echo transmitted by the bond created at their betrothal.

The interminable tunnel ended at last. McCoy found himself in a chamber lined with tiny niches that held more candles and lamps. He could see two other tunnels that joined the chamber, one from the opposite side, and another near the one he had just exited. There was a low platform bed covered with a sort of shaggy black blanket and a dozen pillows. He glared at it like he wanted to declare war on all Vulcan pillows, especially ones that were not doing their damn job of supporting naked Vulcans.

Spock entered from his side of the chamber  _finally_.  He held out his first two fingers, and McCoy touched them with his own. The little contact was soothing. Experimentally, McCoy slid his fingers down Spock’s, all the way to the last knuckle. Then he twisted his hand so that the backs of his fingers were against Spock’s palm and stroked back up to the tips again. They both shivered.

Spock swallowed and said, “Today and for all tomorrows, to you, my husband, I consecrate all that I am.”

“Spock, my husband, from you I receive all that I am.”

“As it was in the beginning, so shall it be now.”

“Two bodies, one mind.”

And they were kissing like it was as necessary as air and water. The stress and anger of the  _plak tow_ receded. The only moment that existed was this one, and everything in it was right.

McCoy had expected urgency and desperation, but what he got instead was a sense of joy and freedom, this feeling that the entire universe had conspired to give them space together. As long as they were touching, the world was perfect. So McCoy kept his mouth on Spock’s mouth and his fingers on Spock’s jaw. Everything would progress exactly as it should, as it had since the beginning.

McCoy continued kissing Spock as he worked on the sash around Spock’s waist, loosening the knot and letting it fall before moving on to the closures of Spock’s robe. For once they didn’t seem to fight him. Once he had the garment open, he kissed his way from Spock’s mouth to his neck, to his collarbone. The  _ _plak tow__  made Spock’s normally delicate scent more pronounced. It was heady – warm and sharp. McCoy slid his lips over Spock’s left clavicle, from his shoulder to the jugular notch, where he paused to lick at the faint flutter of Spock’s pulse, before moving on to the right clavicle.

Even the connection of their minds was different this time. Instead of being caught up in the echoes of each others’ pleasure, it was as if there was no separation at all, no call and answer, because their minds were one. One could no sooner conceive of a touch or perceive the delight of it before the other was also feeling it. It gave the encounter a sense of being preordained, as if they followed some ancient liturgy.

McCoy could not have said if the craving for more contact came from himself or from Spock. He couldn’t have said if it was his idea for Spock to loosen the ties of McCoy’s robe or if Spock had thought of it first. It seemed as if Spock’s hands responded to McCoy’s will and that McCoy’s will was Spock’s will. And when both robes lay pooled on the floor, and McCoy’s sweat-damp body was pressed to Spock’s, it was impossible to say where the impulse to make this happen had come from, just that it was the perfect thing to happen at that moment. And that moment was everything.

That moment was kisses, wet and deep and fever-warm. It was hands, pleasured and pleasing, sliding over skin, buried in hair, grasping, stroking, reveling in textures and shapes. It was skin, petted and cherished and delighted. And it was cocks, weighted with blood, pressing each other not with insistence, but with promise – the sweetness of this moment will dissolve into the sweetness of the next in its right time, as it always has, as it always will.

And so they moved from standing at the foot of the platform, to kneeling on it, to lying on it – each a station in a ritual that they were creating in the moment of observing it. The ceremony of the hand curling around the back of the neck, the rite of the tongue licking the delicate tip of the ear, the celebration of the hipbone fitting precisely to the palm – every touch an offering, every sigh a litany.

When McCoy saw the vial of oil, he took it. He was no longer thinking, not consciously anyway. His body and his spirit conducted this mystery while his mind drifted, watching. He sat astride Spock, thighs pressed to hips, testicles resting on testicles, a reminder that this was a fertility rite. McCoy anointed Spock’s phallus with this oil, pouring a thin, straight line of it from the root to the tip. His hand followed, smearing the oil over Spock’s penis, dedicating it to this purpose.

Spock had taken the oil and massaged a bit of it into his fingers. He used them to open McCoy, pleasure and consecration both in this gesture.

And they joined. Filled. Fitted. Fitting.

They kissed again, voicing songs of praise into each others’ mouths as they moved toward benediction, toward climax, toward grace. And when they reached that place, time stretched itself into an unbroken line to a past before either of their races had existed. They were another pair of celebrants in an ancient ritual, experimenters in life’s curious innovation, a tiny part and the whole of creation.

McCoy had no idea how long they lay together before they slowly started moving again. Spock’s erection had not abated. Neither (to his surprise) had his.

So they repeated the ritual.

Spock rolled them both over and took McCoy from above this time – one hand on the small of McCoy’s back, controlling the angle and depth of penetration. They were slippery with sweat and oil and emissions, as hot and humid as a summer afternoon with the world alive around them.

The urgency that had been absent before was present now. It was a desire to build and create and sustain and live with every sense flung wide open. Everything was the sharp tang of sweat and ejaculate, the vibration of voices and slap of skin, the slick slide of bodies and the stretch and pressure of muscle, the salt and sweet on their tongues, and their eyes wide and dark with drinking in the sight of the other, their faces naked with need.

This orgasm hit like an explosion, driving the air from their lungs and leaving them shaking and gasping in each others’ arms.

Spock slipped off and out of McCoy. There were some soft pieces of cloth on the shelf where McCoy had found the oil. Spock grabbed a couple and mopped at both of them a bit. McCoy laughed when he realized they were both still hard.

McCoy took the oil. Spock rolled onto his side and McCoy slipped first an oiled finger, then his oiled cock into Spock’s body. He put an arm around Spock and pulled him as close as he could, establishing as much contact between them as possible.

Spock twisted his head, took kisses from McCoy’s mouth as their bodies surged in unison, heat and pleasure billowing from within and around them. Emotions rode these waves – affection, compassion, protectiveness, tenderness, longing.

McCoy could hear Spock whispering, not in sentences, just words – “Yes” and “Leonard” and “husband” and “yours.” There were words in his own mouth, but he kept them safely there, only releasing one as their orgasm rippled through them.

“Always,” whispered McCoy.

Spock turned and pulled McCoy into his arms, kissing him as the euphoria subsided. He wrapped the blanket around their rapidly cooling bodies. The  _plak tow_  was completely resolved now. There was no question of moving, no matter how sticky the mess. Exhausted, they held each other and slept.

When they woke, hours (or days. How does one tell in a cave?) later, Spock led them through the third tunnel to another chamber containing something McCoy had never thought to see on Vulcan – a bath. They cleaned off in the sonic shower first, then sat in the warm water, letting it soothe their overworked muscles.

There was cool water to drink and food as well – small mollusks resting in their shells on a bed of ice. McCoy raised an eyebrow.

“They are customary. They will replenish the nutrients our bodies have lost more efficiently than other foods,” said Spock.

“I’m not going to say no to seafood,” said McCoy, eating one. “This’s shockingly hedonistic, you know.”

“This space is meant to ease the transition from  _pon farr_  back to one’s normal existence.”

“Does that mean I’m supposed to be meditating?”

“Yes.” Spock lifted McCoy slightly and slid over so that McCoy was now sitting between Spock’s legs and leaning back against his chest. “But tell me about your ring instead.”

[ _curiosity_ ]

McCoy glanced over at the little lamp shelf where he had placed both his wedding band and the small gold ring that he wore on his pinky.

“It was my granddad’s – my mom’s dad,” said McCoy. “He died before she was born. He was in Starfleet, actually – a crewman on a supply ship that ran between Earth and outer colonies. The ship’s life-support systems malfunctioned on a run to Terra Nova and everyone on board died.”

Spock sensed no particular pain over this piece of family history.

“Anyway, my mother wore it on her thumb, and when she died, my dad put it away for me. He gave it to me when I left home for college.”

[ _a passing ache, old and familiar_ ]

Spock stroked McCoy arm. “You have worn it since then?”

“Yep. Why’d you want to know?” asked McCoy.

“You own few possessions. I surmised it must have some meaning to you. I was curious.”

“Well,” said McCoy. “Now you know.” He slurped down another mollusk.

“Now I have a question,” said McCoy. “Is  _pon farr_  always like this? The mood shifts? The multiple orgasms?” He glanced downward. The poor thing looked tired.

“You have had access to as much information as I, Doctor.”

“Oh.”

“When he explained it to me, Sarek said that it is never the same and never changing, and that one cannot perform a wrong action during  _pon farr_.”

“Well, that’s as good an answer as any I’m likely to get, I guess,” said McCoy.

“Indeed.”

 

 

The  _Enterprise_ encountered Tamarians – the second time that a Federation vessel had done so. The Tamarian ship was badly damaged. Kirk offered aid, but verbal communication was impossible. Finally, Uhura sent them a series of pictures, resources that the  _Enterprise_  could offer. The Tamarians sent back pictures of food and plasma coolant. The supplies were placed in a probe and released into space. When the Tamarians sent the probe back, it contained a drawing of a Tamarian, his right hand clenched in a fist in the center of his chest, his left hand covering the fist. It would be nearly one hundred years before Federation linguists deciphered it as “Temba, his fist covered” – “Thank you.”

Dr. Chapel suggested that morale would be improved with some entertainment. Kirk put her in charge of organizing concerts and plays produced by the crew. She personally directed  _ _A Midsummer Night’s Dream.__  Chief Rand was widely hailed as one of the best Tatianas anyone on board had ever seen. And Sulu and Uhura were so popular as the Blakeneys that  _The Scarlet Pimpernel_ became an annual event.

Kirk got married. He didn’t mean to. He just didn’t realize that, under Hew’lish law, having sex with someone three times meant you were married to them. It was considerably more difficult to obtain a Hew’lish divorce, particularly since the lady in question was the sister of one of their senators.

Scotty started dating Specialist, now Chief Petty Officer, Dlamini. McCoy remarked that he’d been surprised to find out that her first name was Amahle. “I’d begun to think it was Darlin’ Lass.”

All-in-all they were involved in twenty-six skirmishes, negotiated three peace treaties, made first contact with five new cultures, discovered twelve habitable planets, changed the past twice, identified nineteen new diseases (and found cures for fourteen of them), took twenty shore leaves (including ten on Earth), and found a new life-form that could just pop out of nowhere and turn people neon pink.

 

***

 

“It occurs to me that you only remember missions that make comedic anecdotes,” said Spock.

“Not so. I sure as hell remember Gideon. I wish I didn’t.”

[ _corpses piled in the streets, the sick and the dying, some would refuse treatment preferring to die for the cause, McCoy doesn’t argue with them just makes them as comfortable as possible and moves on to the next patient, Spock doesn’t sleep for eight days, he stays in the lab with a small group of crewmen, manufacturing the drugs they need, creating more vaccine, all of the medical staff are on the planet_ ]

“Indeed,” said Spock.

[ _afterwards Kirk orders two weeks of shore leave on Earth_ ]

“You’re right though,” said McCoy. “I do prefer to remember the funny ones over the ones where I’m frantically trying to find a cure before we all die, or watching my friends get tortured, or having my life threatened, or having your life threatened.”

[ _even the thought of losing you…_ ]

“We survived two five-year missions,” said Spock.

“We did.” McCoy rested his cheek against Spock’s immaculate hair for a moment before moving on. “The  _Enterprise_  was over thirty years old by then. Starfleet decided to use it purely as a training vessel. And that sent Kirk into some kind of existential crisis.”

 

***

 

Kirk messaged McCoy –  _My quarters. When you’ve got a minute. Bring advice _.__

McCoy had the good sense to also bring some Saurian brandy. “What’s eating you, Jim?” He poured them each a drink and settled into the chair opposite Kirk’s.

“I got a communication from Admiral Nagura. They want to make the Enterprise a training vessel, and make me the head of the Practical Training Program.”

“Congratulations. You don’t sound exactly thrilled.”

“I like space, but as you yourself pointed out, I should get out of the way. Let someone else have a turn.”

“And you’re hoping I have different advice now?”

“Maybe. Maybe I want to… explore other possibilities… while there’s still time.”

“Ah,” said McCoy, “the old dilemma. You feel like the  _Enterprise_  won’t share you.”

“She won’t,” said Kirk. “I never wanted anything as much as I wanted command of this ship. I spent most of my life working towards the goal of sitting in that chair. And I sacrificed relationship after relationship for it. Now what? They’re putting her out to pasture. Maybe I should take that as my cue. Finally settle down.”

“I don’t know if you know this, Jim, but there are other ships.”

“It wouldn’t be the same.”

“Well, not exactly, no. But you know Spock will serve wherever you are, if you ask him. And it’s a package deal. I go where he goes. It’s in the contract.”

“I can’t do that. Spock should have his own command.” Kirk knocked back about half of his drink. “It’s a promotion; I don’t know why I’m treating it like the end of the world.”

“Because you can’t have everything you want and it pisses you off.” McCoy took a swallow of his drink. “Look, Jim – when I said you should stand aside, I was wrong. You’re a starship commander. That’s who you are, but you also want a home and a loving wife to dote on. You want two lives that are mutually exclusive.”

“Says the guy who serves on the same ship as his husband.”

“Spock and I are okay with ‘home’ being a few square meters of Starfleet vessel. Is that what you want? To marry someone who will serve with you? Because, if it is, you’re going about it all wrong. For starters, you should probably try dating someone in Starfleet.”

“I don’t want to have a wife on the ship. I just meant that… It’s a convenient arrangement for you.”

McCoy’s mouth was set in a straight line and his right eyebrow was halfway up his forehead.

“Sorry, Bones. I wasn’t thinking. You’re right. It does piss me off that I can’t find a way to have everything.”

 

 

Kirk was not the only one facing down a promotion. Starfleet was planning to make Spock a captain.

“I have been offered command of the  _Enterprise _.__ ” They were sitting at the window in their quarters.

“What about the  _Lovelace_? Wouldn’t you rather have a science vessel?” asked McCoy.

“The  _Enterprise_  would offer opportunities to mentor the next generation of officers,” Spock pointed out.

“Uh-huh. Are you sure you’re not just suffering from nostalgia?”

“There’s no need for insults, Doctor.”

“A science vessel seems like it would be a perfect fit for you.”

“Perhaps, but a teaching vessel seems like it would be the perfect fit for you.”

So he’d noticed that, had he? Of course he had. Dr. Hafiz had left last year when first she, and then her wife had become pregnant. “Starfleet has been a great experience, Doctor McCoy, and I’ve learned so much on the  _Enterprise_ , but the plan was always to go home to Salé when it was time to raise a family.”

Her replacement, a doctor named Cesare Trevisani, was as green as they come. McCoy had thoroughly enjoyed watching the kid bloom, showing him the ropes, encouraging and scolding him by turns. Even Chapel had noticed it. “You were the same with me when I first came aboard. When you’re ready to quit chasing Admiral Kirk around the galaxy, you should consider the Academy.”

He had taken this advice seriously.

McCoy smiled at Spock. “I won’t deny it, but there’s always time for teaching later.”

“There’s an equal chance for science vessels later, but opportunities aboard the  _ _Enterprise__  will not last for long.”

“Alright, I’ll consider it, but only because I feel like indulging your sentimentality.”

In the end, Kirk did decide to take the position at HQ. Spock accepted command of the  _ _Enterprise.__ Sulu decided to also stay on, saying that the proximity to Sol and greater flexibility of working on a training vessel would give him more time to spend with his daughter. Chekov, Chapel, and Uhura were all promoted to commander. Chekov took a post as first officer of the  _Reliant_. Chapel accepted an assignment at HQ. Uhura chose to stay with the  _Enterprise_ , saying that teaching sounded “fun.” Rand also decided to stay, and Scotty was a given. He didn’t even leave the  _Enterprise_ while she was in space dock.

 

 

“What are you doing, Dad?” Leonard McCoy was sitting in the kitchen of his father’s Savannah home. It was early in the afternoon, on the third day since he’d arrived. They had two months on Earth while the  _Enterprise_  was in for repairs and minor refitting.

David was standing in the doorway, looking puzzled. “I came down to see what y’all were up to,” he replied. He looked around again. “Where’d Spock go?”

“He went to the shipyards this morning to check on the refit, remember?”

“I remember. I just thought he was back already. I heard you two talking in here.”

“No, he’ll probably be there for a couple of days.”

“I know. I know. Bah! My hearing’s been playing tricks on me lately.” David McCoy sat down at the table. “What’re you working on?”

“Just reading up on dermal regeneration. It looks like a promising technology. What kinds of tricks?” Leonard’s attention was now fully on his father.

“Oh, you know. I think I hear that old dog of your Aunt Lenore’s walking across the floor – ‘click click click.’ Or the other day I could have sworn I heard one of those old Patsy Cline songs your mom loved so much.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“About a month now, off and on. Why?”

“Why? Because auditory hallucinations are not something you should be ignoring, that’s why.”

“I’m just getting old, is all.”

“All the more reason to get this checked out.” Leonard got up and went to the guest room. He rummaged around in his bag until he found his communicator.

“McCoy to  _Enterprise _.__ ”

“ _Enterprise _.__ Scott here. What do you need, Doctor?”

“Scotty, have someone beam me a medical tricorder, will you?”

“Sure thing.”

Spock’s voice came over the communicator. “Is everything alright, Doctor?”

“I don’t know, Spock. It’s Dad. It may be nothing, but I want to check it out. I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything.”

“Acknowledged. Spock out.”

The tricorder appeared on the floor a few feet away. McCoy took it into the kitchen. He removed the scanner and passed it over his father. “Have you been in any pain?”

“My neck aches. I’ve been sleeping on it funny.”

“Dad.” McCoy paused. He wanted a second opinion, preferably one that told him he was wrong. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

 

Dr. Mercer confirmed McCoy’s diagnosis – Clarke’s disease, a degenerative brain disorder. It was progressive, painful, and terminal. “We can expect the disease to advance quickly in a man of your years, Mr. McCoy.”

“How long have I got?” asked David.

“It’s hard to say for sure until we’ve had a chance to monitor you for a few days.”

“Best guess, then.”

“A few weeks. Two months, at the outside.”

“I’ve heard that they’re close to a cure at the University of London,” said Leonard.

“They’ve been ‘close to a cure’ for the better part of a decade,” said Mercer. “They’re just… well, I wouldn’t make my decisions based on the hope that they might finally find something.”

“Can I go home?” asked David.

“Normally, I would want to keep you here for observation, but I’m sure your son can take a scan every few hours. I’m going to refer you to the hospital in Atlanta. They have a doctor there who has much more experience with Clarke’s than I do. I’ll write a prescription for painkillers. Aspirin will work for a while, but I want you to have something stronger on hand, just in case.”

 

“Do you remember when your mama died?” David asked.

The McCoys were sitting in deck chairs on the back patio, sipping bourbon, watching the few stars that were bright enough to penetrate the glare of the nearby city.

“A little. I remember being afraid.”

“You were only seven, a scrawny little thing with big, blue eyes and too much hair. And every thunderstorm, every siren, every bump in the night brought you crawling into my lap.”

“It was so sudden. One second, I’m playing in the back yard, and the next, there are people at the door saying she fell in front of the train. It felt like the next tragedy would strike the minute I let my guard down.”

“Is that what you’re thinking now? That you let your guard down?”

Leonard thought about it. The morning had been sunny and bright. They’d had a big breakfast, he’d kissed Spock good-bye, settled in to catch up on some medical journals, and now it was nighttime and his father was dying. “Maybe. A little. Right now, I’m just thinking about how lonely it feels to have a terminal illness.”

“There a story you want to tell me, son?”

McCoy sipped his whiskey. “I was diagnosed with xenopolycythemia about ten years ago. I was still trying to figure out how to break the news to you when we encountered the Fabrini. They had a cure.”

“So what was your reaction to learning you were going to die?”

“I promptly fell deeply in love with the first beautiful woman who’d have me.”

David chuckled. “I suppose that would take your mind off of your predicament.”

“Yeah, well, it burned out soon after I was cured. We met again, later, but it was pretty clear that there wasn’t much there. We ended it amicably.”

“Well, it’s certainly an interesting way to deal with it… with dying. I think I’ll just put my… my affairs in order, as they say. I’ll… uhm.”

Leonard moved to his father’s chair and took his hand. Tears were falling down both of their faces. David leaned forward and put his forehead on Leonard’s shoulder.

“I don’t want this to be happening,” said David.

Leonard put his arms around him. “Me neither, Dad. Me neither.”

 

“We have him stabilized,” said Dr. Kinens. “He’s sleeping now.”

It was exactly three weeks since David McCoy had received his diagnosis. He’d been in the hospital for almost two of those weeks. He was now relying on his biobed to keep him breathing.

Three weeks. During that time, David McCoy had signed his will and made his funeral arrangements. He gave his son the power to make medical decisions on his behalf. Clarke’s disease was making it harder and harder for him to differentiate reality from the random firings of his brain cells.

Spock had been to London, but he didn’t have good news. The team of scientists there believed it would only be a matter of time before they hit upon the correct therapy to cure the disease, but they admitted that it was a matter of trial and error. The next round of tests could reveal the answer, or be just another dead end.

Dr. Kinens continued, “You should know that he has asked to be allowed to pass on.”

They were in a small waiting room just down the hall from David’s room at the hospital in Atlanta. “And what is your opinion, Dr. Kinens?” asked Spock.

“The biobed will only be sufficient for another day or two. A full life support apparatus could likely keep him alive for another week beyond that. But the pain is already past our ability to control it. I… if the decision were mine, as his doctor, I would comply with his request to remove life support.” She handed McCoy the controller for the biobed. “I’m afraid, though, that the decision is yours, Dr. McCoy.”

McCoy took the device. “I’d like to be alone with my father,” he said to Spock. Spock nodded and sat down in one of the chairs.

The lights were low when McCoy stepped into the room. He could hear the medical scanner playing its familiar song – heartbeat and respiration, cortical activity, blood pressure. He could see his father, outlined against the city skyline beyond his window. McCoy stepped closer and looked at him. Even in his sleep, his face was drawn and strained with pain. McCoy drew a chair closer to the bed and sat in it, watching over his father’s fitful sleep.

His father had entrusted him with this decision. He probably shouldn’t have. McCoy had never hesitated to act on behalf of a patient like this before. He had treated friends and even his own husband on board the  _ _Enterprise__. He had always been able to disregard his feelings for the person for the time it took to heal the body. But he couldn’t heal his father’s body. Now the question was, what was right for his soul?

As a doctor, he recognized that it was futile to keep this patient alive for another week. The chance that a cure would be found was vanishingly small. The logical thing to do was to discard that chance. It might as well not even exist.

As this man’s son, though, that chance was everything. That chance could mean another twenty years with his father in this life – happy and healthy and there. But at what cost? What if he gambled and lost? Could he put another human being through that? Could he put someone he loved through that?

“Leonard...”

“I’m here, Dad.”

“The pain… stop the pain.”

He tried to argue, but in the end, he just couldn’t ask his father to endure it any longer.

He slipped the controller into its port on the biobed. He keyed in the sequence that told the bed to stop supplying the impulse to breathe to his father’s lungs.

The scanner stopped playing its song.

 

The day after the funeral, McCoy was back aboard the  _Enterprise_ , overseeing the installation of new surgical support frames. Work being the best distraction and all that.

The intercom chimed. “Doctor, may I see you in our quarters?”

“Be right there.”

Something was wrong. There was hardly anyone on the ship. If Spock wanted to say something to him privately, he had plenty of opportunities to just pull him aside. McCoy frowned as he took the short walk down the corridor to their quarters.

Something was definitely wrong. McCoy could see it on Spock’s face.

“I have received a communication from the University of London.”

“No.” McCoy felt the room tilt.

“They have found the cure for Clarke’s disease.”

 

 

If Spock had learned anything about emotions from his time with Leonard McCoy, it was that some traumas do not heal exactly. They merely throb less insistently over time. You learn to accept the sore spot, to give it some space to be, and eventually, you find that there is room again for joy and peace and annoyance and all the rest of the ways to feel. If McCoy required patience, Spock had plenty. If he needed friends, they were all around. And if he needed to be brought out of himself sometimes, a ship full of cadets was more than adequate to the purpose.

McCoy, as Spock had expected, turned out to be an excellent teacher. He had an instinct for when to apply encouragement and when to let an ensign “learn things the hard way.” He taught them to recover from mistakes, to listen to what a patient says and to what they avoid saying, to always give compassion, even to themselves. No, Spock was not at all surprised to find that the  _Enterprise_  soon had a reputation as the training vessel that turned out the best medicos in Starfleet.

He was also not surprised when the  _Enterprise_  gained a similar reputation for the excellence of its engineers. “You make starships go!” Scott would say to the trainees. “Never forget that! You have the privilege of making space travel happen. Nothing runs without you. Make sure every length of conduit, every access tube, every console, every bit of machinery shows your love and pride in your work and for your ship.”

What did surprise him was the occasional cadet that came with an off-the-record note from Kirk that “this one has great potential, Spock.” He had no idea what criteria Kirk was applying in these judgments. Some were as confident and intuitive as Kirk himself. Others were quiet and analytical. Some had great abilities but no confidence. Others seemed to be floundering technically despite a passion for serving in Starfleet. Kirk would eventually prove to be correct in every case. These cadets did have potential. What puzzled Spock was Kirk’s certainty that Spock would always find the appropriate key to unlock it. Spock was thankful that he had McCoy to help him.

Young humans, as far as Spock was concerned, were even more inexplicable than the fully adult version. Case in point – the growing number of additions available for _plomeek_  broth. He finally asked Mr. Scott about it. “Why is  _plomeek_ broth available with salted duck eggs, salmon roe, shrimp, tomato jam, slices of raw beef, ramen noodles, mango chutney, potatoes, or green onions?”

“Ah, well, you see, sir, the trainees sort of find it amusing to invent new ways to eat  _plomeek_  broth.”

“A rather curious pastime, don’t you think?”

“Ah, yes. They… well, Amahle may have mentioned that you had programmed the  _plomeek_  broth with optional hot sauce, because, uhm, Doctor McCoy is fond of it.” Spock arched an eyebrow. “And they thought it was a very romantic gesture, sir, so they try to add new ingredients that they think their sweethearts will appreciate.”

“Romantic, Mr. Scott?”

“Well, they’re engineers, sir.”

 

***

 

McCoy said, “When I toured the  _Enterprise _-__ D, Lieutenant Commander Data informed me that they are up to sixty-eight additions now, and it’s an official part of the replicator’s programming. Every ship in Starfleet can now serve infinite variations of  _plomeek_  broth.”

“That’s hardly infinite, Doctor,” said Spock.

“That’s your legacy you’re talking about, Spock.”

Spock raised his eyebrows and looked into the distance as if his ability to tolerate Humans might be located there.

Spock touched McCoy’s hand. “Is it your intention to avoid speaking of your father?”

“No. I’m just not sure that anything has been left unsaid by this point.”

“You were fragile at that time in a way I had never witnessed before. Your resilience has always been a hallmark of your character. It was disconcerting.”

McCoy gave Spock a squeeze. “I guess there was something left unsaid then. I never told you how much it helped that I could lean on you. I could let myself fall to pieces a little, knowing you’d help me pick them back up.”

Spock bowed his head, and McCoy planted a few kisses on his neck.

“And things got better,” said McCoy. “When I remember those years, and the years of the third five-year mission, I mostly think of the kids who did their residencies there, and the work, and how we were  _ _together__  in ways we wouldn’t be later. I don’t think we went longer than a few hours without at least passing each other in the corridors. But it never grated. I was never tired of you.”

“I remember it fondly as well.”

“And I remember Kirk staying out of that command chair for six years. God only knows what he was thinking.”

“He was thinking that perhaps he would prefer to have a home and a wife rather than command of a starship,” said Spock.

 

***

 

“So, how was Vulcan?”

Kirk tipped back in his chair. He, Spock and McCoy were having dinner at Kirk’s apartment in San Francisco.

“It’s lovely in the spring,” said McCoy dryly. Kirk could read a chronometer. He knew damn well that they had been there for  _ _pon farr__. Was he twelve?

“My mother wished me to convey to you her greetings,” said Spock.

“That’s very kind of her,” said Kirk. “How’s everything on the  _Enterprise_?” He almost managed not to sound wistful.

“Lieutenant Sorak has accepted a position on the  _Vaughan _.__ ”

“Your protégé, Spock? Congratulations. Will you be mentoring another Vulcan?”

“I am considering it. I have sponsored another Vulcan at the Academy, and a cadet named Saavik will be on the next training mission. If she excels as I expect her to, I will offer to mentor her. She is quite talented, although unusually interested in humans.”

“Well, we  _are_  a fascinating species,” said Kirk.

“So are the Gorn, Admiral.”

“If you like teeth.”

Kirk stared out at the night sky for a moment. “I’m considering resigning my commission.”

“What? Are you out of your goddamn mind?” asked McCoy.

“I thought you’d be a bit more supportive, Bones.”

“The doctor’s colorful expressions aside, Jim, it is rather a surprise. What are you planning to do outside of Starfleet?” asked Spock.

“My uncle has a farm in Idaho. I thought I’d spend some time there while I work things out.”

“So you’re going to take up the fine art of rusticating?” said McCoy.

“Maybe I just want to see if there’s life outside of Starfleet,” said Kirk.

“Your accomplishments are greater than most achieve in a lifetime, Jim,” said Spock. “If a simpler life required justification, you could certainly be said to have earned it. I cannot help but wonder though, if you will truly find it fulfilling.”

“Well, there’s one way to find out,” said Kirk.

 

 

“Well, Uhura, what do you think of the new uniforms?” asked McCoy. They were making small talk while they stood around the bridge simulator, waiting for the next command candidate to take the  _Kobayashi Maru_.

“Oh, I like them. I’m glad skirts are an option. I’ve always preferred a skirt. They just seem to provide better freedom of movement, you know?”

“No, I don’t really know. The closest I’ve ever come to wearing one is when I have to put on Vulcan ceremonial robes. Damn things always seem to be swirling around my ankles.”

“Well, short skirts, then,” said Uhura with a smile.

“I think the uniforms are rather dashing,” put in Sulu. “They remind me of the old Naval uniforms from the days of the tall ships.”

“Mmm, romantic,” said Uhura.

Spock came through the door of the fake turbolift. “Is everyone ready? Ensign Yu is here.”

“We were just discussing the new uniforms, Captain,” said Uhura.

“They are practical. The old ones were practical. I have never understood why Starfleet sees fit to keep changing them.”

 

 

“Hope you don’t mind me just dropping in, Jim. I wanted to get in a little rural bliss before the snow flies.”

“Bones! Not at all! Come in. Come in.”

“Nice pile of logs you got here,” said McCoy as he entered the cabin.

“Thanks. Let me get you a drink.” Kirk walked over to a small cabinet with bottles and glasses in it.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

“I wish you’d come earlier. Antonia is spending the day with friends. I would have liked you to meet her.” Kirk handed McCoy a glass. They sat down near the fire.

“Another time, maybe. How’s the rusticating going?”

“This may be hard to believe, but I actually like the wilderness, you know.”

“I prefer not to be someplace where falling down a ravine and being devoured by mountain lions is a possibility.”

“Really, Bones?”

“Really.” McCoy grinned.

“How’s Spock?”

“Oh, he’s having a grand old time with his new ensign. She asks him questions about Humans, and he describes us like we’re some band of wild primates he found up a tree on a mountainside somewhere.” McCoy sipped his drink. “He misses you. We both do.”

“I’ll visit soon, I promise. After all, I’d hate for you to come all the way out here and get eaten by a mountain lion.”

“Well, it’s not like you’ve never risked your life for me, I suppose.” McCoy leaned forward. “So, you’ve all but retired, got a house, and I take it this is serious? With Antonia?”

“Yeah, it’s serious. Bones, she’s amazing. Smart and passionate. She’s easy to be around, you know?”

“Sounds like you’re in love.”

“I think she might be the one.”

“That’s serious, alright.”

Kirk sipped his drink and stared at the fire for a moment before looking back at McCoy. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Go ahead.”

“How did you know you wanted to be with Spock? I mean, Vulcans mate for life. You must have known pretty early on that it was what you wanted. I can’t imagine you treating that casually.”

“No, I was pretty sure from the get-go. Not that I told him that, of course. That would have spooked him for sure.”

McCoy settled back in his chair, and looked up for a bit, gathering his thoughts.

“After Natira, I knew I didn’t want to live out my life alone – one year or sixty. Now, Natira’s an amazing gal – beautiful, smart, and brave – but she wasn’t the one for me. I knew that when I said yes to her. But, I figured we could make each other happy for one year. And I still don’t think I was wrong.

“After that – well, something like that’s bound to make you think. I realized that romance is kind of a crap shoot. You want to come through that hung-the-moon, butterflies-in-the-stomach phase and find yourself with somebody that you can depend on and trust, someone you can argue with and still want to be around, someone you find interesting when the hormonal rush is over. I wasn’t having much luck with that, and I was getting too old for the merry-go-round.

“So, I decided to approach it from the other side. I thought about who I might already have that steady, dependable relationship with, and eventually I realized that it was Spock.

“I’ve always found him attractive.” McCoy blushed slightly. “Very attractive. But I’d never really thought about men as romantic partners. I’m not sure why. Probably a lot of old-fashioned notions about the fair sex and me wanting to be leaned on and needed a little. It doesn’t really matter. The point is, I started thinking about Spock in a different light. I saw that I really liked having him in my life. As you said, though, I knew I couldn’t make an offer without being sure.

“Then Sarpeidon happened.”

“The library,” said Kirk. “I remember. You and Spock were stuck in their ice age.”

“Yeah, there were some things that didn’t make it into the report. You know that Spock’s brain began to revert, but we didn’t mention the part about him developing feelings for our rescuer, Zarabeth. He didn’t want to leave, Jim.”

“He did leave, though, for you. Is that when you knew?”

“No, I knew when I couldn’t bring myself to leave without him. We told you that the portal didn’t work, and Mr. Atoz said we’d have to come through together. I didn’t try to get through that portal, Jim. Spock tried to throw me through it when I wouldn’t go without him.

“And that’s when I knew. It wasn’t just that I wanted him, I really didn’t want to be  _without_  him. That’s when I knew I had to at least try.”

“How did that happen?” asked Kirk. “It’s hard to imagine the two of you trading longing looks across the Officers’ Mess.”

McCoy laughed. “Well, there was none of that, I promise you. I proposed that we enter into an uh… intimate liaison and he accepted.”

“You did what?”

“I laid out, as logically as I could, all of the reasons that I thought an intimate relationship would be in both our best interests. He listened, and promised to consider it. The next day, he accepted my proposition.”

“That is... not what I expected.”

“It’s not what  _ _I__  expected,” said McCoy. “But it worked. And it did change my luck.”

“And you don’t mind having missed out on the romance,” said Kirk.

“Funny thing about that. Every once in a while, I catch Spock hanging the moon.”

 

 

“I can’t help it. Cats are nice, but I’m just a dog person,” said Dlamini.

“Planetside, maybe,” said Uhura, although her tone indicated misgivings. “But on a starship, it’s just too much work. Lieutenant Ocampo had one a few years ago, and he spent all of his spare time exercising it. They need space to play in.”

They were in the computer lab attempting to install the new voice-recognition modules, a task that Spock imagined every other ship in the fleet was currently pursuing. Both Dlamini and Uhura had been muttering about the disadvantages of hastily-manufactured equipment and codes until the conversation had turned to pets.

Uhura was an advocate for the domestic felines of her world, while Dlamini preferred the canines. It was apparently an ancient argument that Humans enjoyed engaging in. Saavik clearly found it fascinating.

Dlamini said, “We had a big black terrier and a little blue cat when I was a kid. They would play ‘chase’ up and down the hallway. It was cute.”

“I thought that the two species were in conflict,” said Saavik. “At the Academy, Humans would say, ‘They fight like cats and dogs.’ Chief, do you have any idea what this routine is supposed to do?”

“Generally, they don’t like each other, but if you raise them together, they will usually become friends. It’s part of the module that compensates for ambient noise,” said Dlamini.

“Do you have an estimate of the time required to complete this task?” Spock asked Uhura.

“We should have it all back together in about twenty minutes, Captain. I’ll call you if it still doesn’t work,” she replied.

“Contact Commander Sulu if you encounter a difficulty. I have an engagement on Earth.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“We had tribbles once,” said Uhura.

“Your family had tribbles?” asked Dlamini.

“No, the ship had tribbles.”

Spock felt a small smile tug at his mouth as he left the lab.

He went to the bridge.

“Good evening, Captain,” Sulu greeted him.

“Mr. Sulu. I wished to inform you that I am transporting to the surface in ten minutes. I shall be absent for three hours.”

“Very well, Captain. Enjoy your evening, and say hello to the admiral for me.”

“I shall, Commander. Carry on.”

Spock went to his quarters next. McCoy was seated by the window reading  _1Q84_.

Spock began changing out of his uniform. “Are you sure that you would prefer to remain?” he asked.

“I’m beat, Spock. I’m going to finish this chapter and hit the sack. You and Jim have a good time.”

Spock pulled on a casual Vulcan outfit. He adjusted the opening with a couple of pins, then bent over McCoy and kissed him sweetly.

“Have I mentioned that you’re terrific kisser?” asked McCoy.

“I believe so.” said Spock.

In the transporter room, the crewman on duty had already entered the coordinates for the transporter facility near the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. Kirk met him there.

“Spock, it’s great to see you!” Kirk grinned and gave Spock’s upper arm a squeeze.

“I am pleased to see you as well, Jim,” said Spock, nodding.

“Shall we?” Kirk gestured in the direction of the museum.

They wandered the halls of the gallery for a couple of hours, speaking little, just enjoying the art and each others’ presence. They finally found a bench in front of a painting of Prometheus chained to a pillar.

“Antonia and I have been discussing the future,” said Kirk.

Spock arched an eyebrow to indicate his attentiveness.

“My neighbors are an elderly couple. They have a horse farm, but they want to retire. Antonia thinks I should take it over.”

“You do have an affinity for horses.”

“True. It’s not a bad idea. I can see myself doing that someday.”

“Someday?” said Spock.

“I think I want to return to active duty.”

“I see.”

“I’d be in San Francisco, not space, but I’m not sure we can make it work. She hates the city, and her work is in Idaho. I told her that I could spend weekends and vacations with her, but she wasn’t very enthusiastic about that idea either.

“Bones told me that he chose you because he wanted to change his luck. Before, when I’ve been faced with this decision, I’ve always chosen my career. Now I’m wondering if I shouldn’t choose the lady.”

“I am not Ms. Salvatori, and you are not Dr. McCoy. I doubt that he meant to draw a parallel of that nature.”

“Maybe not. But I can’t deny that I wish I had what you two have.”

Spock stared at the painting for a moment. Finally, he said, “The emergency reinstatement of Dr. McCoy’s commission lapsed after the V’ger incident was concluded. He chose to rejoin Starfleet to be with me.

“I was offered my choice of commands – the  _Enterprise_  or the  _Lovelace _.__  I chose the  _Enterprise_  because the doctor would be happier on a teaching vessel than on a science vessel.”

“You keep choosing each others’ happiness over your own,” said Kirk.

“We keep choosing each other.”

 

 

Kirk chose Starfleet. He went back to his job as the head of the Practical Training Program.

McCoy predicted that he wouldn’t be any happier than before. “He needs a starship to command, Spock.”

Sulu also took a position with the Practical Training Program, teaching cross-disciplinary tactical and navigational skills.

Amahle Dlamini quit Starfleet to run her family’s business. “It was always her plan,” Scotty told McCoy while taking advantage of the doctor’s liquor supply. “Still, it’s a heavy sorrow to lose her.”

Cadets came and ensigns went. Under a Vulcan’s command the crew showed the next generation of Starfleet how take concept and discipline and turn it into process. And they all continued to do work they were immensely proud of – even if it wasn’t as exciting as the old days.

 

 

McCoy had a book in his lap, but he wasn’t really reading, just staring out the little window in his quarters. If he craned his head just right, he could see the tiniest sliver of Earth.

Spock sat down at the other end of the window seat and curled his fingers around McCoy’s bare ankle, thinking idly that humans have two extra bones in their feet, but one fewer in their hands.

“So Saavik takes the  _Kobayashi Maru_  tomorrow?” McCoy grinned. “I hope she gets us killed. I’m considering going over the railing this time.”

“Vulcans rarely endanger their ship, however if she does, I shall make a half turn and fall against my console. The last time I fell on my back, Mr. Sulu stepped on my head.”

McCoy laughed. “So Jim’s coming on the training run?”

“Yes. The official order came down this morning.”

“Don’t give up your chair. It’ll take a crowbar to get his butt back out of that seat.”

“I highly doubt there will be any reason for the admiral to assume command of the  _Enterprise_  on a training mission.”

Spock’s fingers were working their way up the leg of McCoy’s uniform in a way that was simultaneously soothing and quite the opposite of soothing. McCoy could feel Spock’s mind nudging his, he could see the rather insistent thoughts there.

“You know what, Captain? I like the way you think,” he said, leaning forward.

“Indeed, Doctor? Fascinating.” Spock met him halfway with a kiss.

 

***

 

“Oh, is that where you’re going to leave it?” asked McCoy. “I was kind of hoping we’d get to relive us having sex again.”

“It is getting late,” said Spock. “We’ve been through ten years this afternoon.”

“So we have, and the next year was a doozy.”

Spock stood and helped McCoy to his feet. “Are you… Should we stop?”

“No.” McCoy rested his forehead against Spock’s. “Even if this ritual doesn’t turn out the way you want, I think it’s worthwhile. I want to keep on, even through the hard parts.”

Spock cupped McCoy’s face in his hands, allowing their connection to deepen.

[ _my deepest affection and gratitude and devotion to you my husband_ ]

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote this chapter back in March, I had no way of knowing that mycelium and spores were going to be a big old plot thingy on _Discovery_. I was just intrigued by the idea of fungus as a building material, and I figured some planet, somewhere, would probably use that tech. But, hey, sets that look like unicorns should be romping through them, that's pretty awesome too.


	5. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy spends some quality time with his in-laws.

“Khan Noonien Singh,” said McCoy.

“I’m surprised. I thought I would detect more anger from you,” said Spock.

“At Khan? Or the people who created him? Or the circumstances that drove him mad? I remember being plenty pissed off at him when we first encountered the SS _Botany Bay_ , but the Khan that spent all those years on Ceti Alpha V? He seemed more like a force of nature, a phenomenon, than a man.”

“Fortunately, he was just a man. His emotionalism and hubris eventually caused him to make mistakes.”

“He had one hell of a Parthian shot, though.”

“The Genesis Device,” said Spock.

“The Drs. Marcus’ stick of dynamite. But we had you. And your unassailable Vulcan logic, and your tenacious Vulcan physique, and your scientific Vulcan mind. No one else could have done what you did,” said McCoy.

“Show me.”

“It’s right there, Spock. It was always there whenever you were ready.”

“I wish to see it now.”

[ _There is a door in McCoy’s mind, a clearly marked door, behind which sits the memory of watching his husband die._

_Spock has always avoided it._

_He hasn’t wanted to_ _experience_ _McCoy’s suffering at this. Imagine his own suffering should the roles be reversed._ _He does not want to feel McCoy’s anger at_ _being incapacitated, at having no say in this decision_ _._

_Spock opens the door and walks in._

_His throat is ragged from shouting._ _U_ _seless._ _Helpless._ _No one could survive that kind of exposure. Not even a Vulcan._

_Spock’s dead. He’s fixing the reactor, but he’s dead._

_Never lightly._

_Whatever Spock is doing behind that radiation barrier is necessary._

_He nerve-pinched me_ _._

_McCoy watches, horror-struck. He prays that it works. Whatever it is, let it work._

_There is no time to argue._

_The familiar tug of the ship going to warp speed._

_Is the nerve pinch_ _any_ _different_ _from_ _a hypospray full of sedatives?_

_Spock stumbles to a corner and sits._

_He’s alone._ _He doesn’t turn to look. Spock knows_ _McCoy is_ _there, watching, witnessing._

_McCoy can feel him._

_It has been over two minutes, Spock is blind now._

_Jim! He’s trying to override the safety! It takes three of them to hold him back._

“ _He’s dead already,” says Scott. Kirk looks to McCoy. It is the truth._

 _He watches. He does not interrupt. Spock knows he is there. Let_ _Spock_ _reassure Kirk. Let him_ _n_ _ame_ _Kirk_ _friend, one last time._

 _And there is_ _shock._ _And there is_ _sorrow_ _deeper than the sea.  But there is no anger, no blame._

_The needs of the many…_

_The many are the people Spock loves and a ship full of children._

_McCoy_ _doesn’t understand everything that_ _has_ _happened here. But Spock said never lightly._

 _And he believes in Spock._ ]

McCoy spoke to Spock, drawing him back bit by bit from this memory. Spock could meditate on it later. It was dangerously close to topics McCoy was not ready for.

“You were right of course. You didn’t have time to convince me. I would have seen it eventually, but it would have been too late. You were dead the second that Khan activated that device. The only question was, would we die with you?

“A few hours later, after the radiation had dissipated, and your body had been decontaminated, they brought you to sickbay. I insisted on preparing your body myself.”

“My consciousness awoke within your mind then. I remember Saavik was also there,” said Spock.

“Saavik helped me. She knew more about Vulcan funerary rites. She chose the robe. It was the one you wore when you came back from Vulcan, after you pursued _kolinahr_.

[ _the deafening skirl of the pipes, the torpedo casing, Saavik crying_ ]

“I found out later that there were certain holes in her education. Maybe that’s why she never mentioned that you might have tried to leave your _katra_ with somebody. Or maybe it never occurred to her that you’d leave it with a Human and she didn’t want to go telling tales out of school.

“I thought I was cracking up. I kept hearing your voice, sleepwalking, insisting we needed to go back to the Genesis planet. When Kirk told me you’d left your _katra_ in me, then I was pissed.

“How could you not tell me something so basic about Vulcans?” asked McCoy.

“It simply had not occurred to me. I expected to live far longer than fifty-five years,” said Spock.

“On a starship? How many times had you almost died before that?”

“If I died suddenly, there would be no time to transfer my _katra_. If I didn’t, then I would have time to explain the concept. It was purely because you were available and your mind was already so receptive to mine that I judged it possible then. I assumed that my father would inform you of what had happened, and that you’d take my _katra_ to Mount Seleya to be placed in an ark there. Instead, I kept feeling the pull of my body, alive on the Genesis planet.”

[ _It is a struggle to keep McCoy calm._ _It is a struggle to keep himself calm without his Vulcan brain._

 _He is worried about the cold grey area in McCoy’s mind where grief should be._ _He is worried that if he cannot make McCoy understand in time, he will destroy the last person in the universe that he would ever want to hurt._ _He is worried at the shock and fear that takes over their brain whenever his consciousness makes itself known to McCoy’s._

 _McCoy’s subconscious_ _knows and_ _trusts Spock, but it is not enough._

 _When Jim finds them, explains what is happening to McCoy, they are flooded with relief, then anger,_ _then grief and joy and affection and foreboding and loneliness and acceptance. Spock cannot fathom how McCoy deals with this_ _deluge, but he does._

 _They are together_ _– profoundly and intimately so. Spock is subject to the tides of McCoy’s emotions. They are never absent, but they ebb when McCoy has purpose and flow when he is idle._ _Spock finds them chaotic. They are not as strong as his own, but they are constant and they are complex. Spock feels things he cannot even name._

_And when McCoy feels Spock becoming overwhelmed, he shows him the ocean and the stars above. “You know this place. You’re safe here. We’ll get you home.”_

_McCoy is determined to do whatever Spock_ _requires_ _, even if this_ _is_ _the last act he performs for his husband._ _Now that he knows that another needs him,_ _McCoy_ _is characteristically unconcerned for the danger to himself._ ]

“Sarek thought you’d left your _katra_ with Jim. He’d heard that Jim was the last person you spoke to.

“Saavik and David Marcus managed to keep your body alive until we got to the Genesis planet. Unfortunately, some Klingons were also there. They killed David when he tried to defend Saavik. Kirk had to blow up the _Enterprise_ in order to kill enough of them to even the odds.”

[ _black_ _smoke_ _and orange fire, the empty hull streaks across the pink sky_ ]

“I saw it through your eyes,” said Spock. “I was surprised at how much it affected me.”

“You served on her for thirty-one years.”

“A ship is an inanimate object.”

“She was our home, Spock.”

Spock considered this. “Yes, she was.”

“Well, we hijacked the Bird-of-Prey and managed to get your body and your soul in one location. I can’t say as the _fal-tor-pan_ was loads of fun, but I suppose recovering from it wasn’t a picnic for you either.”

“I was motivated to complete my rehabilitation as quickly as possible. I was indebted to you and Jim, and to the rest of the crew who had risked so much for me. I did not think I could repay that debt until I was ‘working on all thrusters.’”

McCoy laughed. “It was the longest goddamn four months of my life, Spock.”

 

***

 

They were at a monastery of some kind on Vulcan. Spock’s _katra_ was back in its own body now, though Spock was decidedly the worse for wear. Most of them were facing court-martial. And the Klingons were even more offended by Kirk’s continued existence than usual.

Amanda had taken over Spock’s rehabilitation. His memory was coming back in random patches. First, he remembered the last things he had said before he died, then he remembered the names of people he knew. Some of his vast store of information came pouring back, and his personal history started filling itself in. But his emotions were still absent. “They’ll surface,” said Amanda.

They settled in to wait.

 

 

“Where did you find Romulan ale on Vulcan?” Kirk asked. It was evening, and McCoy had returned to the cell he was sharing with Kirk in the small monastery at the foot of Mount Seleya.

“The captain’s footlocker on the Bird-of-Prey,” said McCoy. “It was the only thing in there besides bloodwine.” He handed Kirk a glass. “All that stuff is good for is expelling internal parasites. Even they can’t stand the taste.”

Kirk smiled and held out his glass to be filled. “I appreciate the gesture, Bones, but I’ve learned that the good stuff always has a price when it comes from you – usually in the form of a good long look at my soul.”

McCoy shook his head. “You’ve suffered a pretty bad blow, Jim. I thought you might want to talk.”

“Am I brooding?”

“Your son just died. You’re grieving.”

“My son, who I knew for a little more than a week, has died. There’s a lot more than grief going on.”

McCoy sat on one of the two storage chests that were lined up against the wall. “So what else is going on?”

Kirk sat on his bed and sighed. “I’m angry. I’m angry at Carol for keeping him from me. I’m angry at David for his recklessness. I’m angry at myself for not getting there sooner. I’m angry at the Klingons for being Klingons.

“At the same time, I understand why she did it. If we’d tried to stay together, we would have ended up resenting each other, and I can see where she wouldn’t want me popping in every few months full of gifts and adventure stories.

“I’m also not so old that I can’t see why David used protomatter. I remember what it was to be impatient – to want the world right now.”

McCoy raised both eyebrows at this.

“Okay, so I didn’t act on it often,” said Kirk. “That doesn’t mean I don’t understand it. You don’t make Captain at thirty-two by being content to wait.”

“No, probably not,” McCoy agreed.

“As for the Klingons – we were a stone’s throw from the neutral zone, testing what looked like a game-changing weapon. If the tables had been turned, I’m sure we would have been nosing around too.”

“But not taking and killing hostages.”

“No, of course not, but you can’t blame a scorpion for being a scorpion.”

“Klingons aren’t scorpions, Jim. They’re sentient beings. That’s why the one we captured is cooling his heels in a cell on Babel.”

“I’m not sure if you’re telling me it’s okay to blame the Klingons or not,” said Kirk.

“They seem like the healthiest target anyway,” said McCoy.

Kirk smiled ruefully and finished his drink.

“I just wish I could have known him, Bones.” He closed his eyes tightly and took a shaky breath. “I was starting to make up for lost time. Now I won’t get to finish.”

 

 

About a month after they arrived on Vulcan, Spock came to the garden where McCoy was sitting, watching the sun set beyond the mountain.

“You are my husband.”

McCoy’s heart forgot how to keep rhythm for a moment. “You remember?”

“I remember the fact. The details are… hazy,” said Spock.

“And you don’t feel anything about it.”

“Vulcans do not have emotions.”

“Vulcans have emotions. They just keep them suppressed,” McCoy reminded him. “And you have a Human heritage too.”

Spock furrowed his brow for a moment. “My mother informs me that it may cause you some distress to think that I don’t remember that you are my husband. It seems most illogical. You are aware that my memory is not returning in a pattern predicated on relevance.”

“I know. But, thanks for telling me anyway.”

Spock turned and walked toward the entrance of the garden. He stopped halfway and turned back again to look at McCoy. “If my emotions never resurface, it may be distressing to you to remain married to me. In that case, I would release you from any obli --”

“Now see here, Spock!” McCoy stood. “You’re not releasing me from a goddamn thing, you hear? I am your husband and I intend to stay your husband until you tell me you don’t want me around anymore, or you die for longer than a week. Then _I’ll_ release _you_.”

Spock nodded. “Very well,” he said, and left.

 

 

There wasn’t much to do on Vulcan while they waited for Spock to recover. Scotty was overseeing the repairs on the Bird-of-Prey. McCoy was helping out however he could.

“Could you go get that circuit board for me, Doctor? I left it in the medbay.” Without any need for it, the medbay had become a storage room for repaired doo-dads.

“Sure thing, Scotty.” McCoy went down the narrow walkway to the main part of the ship. When he got to the medbay, he found Saavik using a medical tricorder on herself.

“Not feeling well, Lieutenant?”

“I... suspected that I may have a common medical condition that I could check myself. I didn’t wish to trouble you with it.”

“I see.” He peeked at the screen. “Well, if you’re done, could you take this to Mr. Scott?” He picked up the circuit board and handed it to her. “I just remembered that I promised to speak to Amanda before the afternoon meal.”

He found Amanda at the foot of the steps leading up Mount Seleya. “Do you have a moment?”

She smiled at him and extended her hand. “I almost always have at least one or two to spare for you, Leonard.”

He took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze, smiling down at her. “Thanks.”

“There hasn’t been much change, I’m afraid. He remembers more information every day, and he seems to finally be putting much of it into context, but the rest… I’ve spoken with some of our best healers. They say that his brain is just not ready to accept something as complex as emotions.”

“I know. It’s actually not about Spock this time. It’s Saavik.”

“Saavik?”

“I just found her using a medical tricorder to see if she’s pregnant.”

“That’s impossible. She’s too young. She shouldn’t experience her first _pon farr_ for years yet.”

“Unless she were infected by somebody in the throes of the _plak tow._ ”

“How would that happen? Where would she have encountered – oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“But with his _katra_ residing in you, Spock wouldn’t have been able to infect her.”

“I know that, and you know that. I’m wondering why Saavik doesn’t know that. Do Vulcans wait until the last minute to explain this stuff?”

“No, they don’t. They may not explain the more mystical parts until a child is older, but Saavik really should know by now. I’ll check into it.”

“I’m sorry to pile more responsibilities on you, Amanda, but I’m probably the last person in the galaxy she would want to discuss this with.”

 

 

“I spoke with Sarek today. The Federation is getting anxious to hold our trial.” Kirk and McCoy were taking a break from the midday sun under the port wing of the Bird-of-Prey.

“Well it’s a high priority, punishing people for taking what you were going to throw out anyway,” said McCoy. Kirk huffed out a little laugh.

They had been on Vulcan now for just over two and a half months.

Kirk looked at McCoy, sitting on the ground, leaning against a cargo tote, his legs extended and crossed at the ankle, his hands in his lap. McCoy was looking up at the Hall of Ancient Thought, where Spock was no doubt whizzing through lesson modules at lightning speed.

“How are you holding up, Bones?”

McCoy briefly considered pretending he had no idea what Kirk was referring to, but instead he answered, “Same as you. I miss him.”

“Same as me, except you’re his husband.”

“Am I, Jim? I expect him to come out of that temple any day now and tell me that marrying me was a mistake and remaining married to me is ‘highly illogical.’” McCoy swallowed. It was the first time he’d voiced this fear aloud.

Kirk gave McCoy’s shin a squeeze. “It’ll never happen, Bones.”

“That’s all you got for me? ‘Never happen, Bones?’ I spill my guts and you figure you can just fix it with some denial?”

Kirk smiled. “It’ll never happen, Bones. The Spock that cares about you – cares about us – is still there. I know it. Call it ‘Captain’s intuition.’”

“You’re an admiral, Jim.” McCoy crossed his arms and glared at Kirk in disgust.

 

 

“Dr. McCoy, I have been looking for you,” said Saavik.

“Well, that shouldn’t have been too much trouble. I don’t get around much these days,” said McCoy.

He was just heading back from the monastery garden where he would read for a little while each evening.

“No, you don’t,” agreed Saavik.

For someone who was looking for him, she didn’t seem keen to tell him anything.

“Well, we’ll probably be heading home soon,” said McCoy. “Court-martial and all that.”

“So I have been informed. I won’t be coming with you.”

“Oh?” He hadn’t really expected that she would, since she had nothing to do with hijacking a starship from the Federation. Whether the Klingons blamed her for any part of losing their Bird-of-Prey was anyone’s guess.

“I prefer not to discuss my past, but my family and my mate were killed when our colony on Kaleb IV was attacked. I was sixteen.”

“I’m very sorry to hear it.”

Saavik acknowledged this with a nod. “Ambassador Sarek and Amanda have offered to be my representatives in contracting a new betrothal. I will remain on Vulcan until this matter is concluded.”

“I see. Well, I wish you the best of luck, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, Doctor. For everything.”

“Don’t mention it.”

For godsakes please don’t mention it, he thought.

 

***

 

“Saavik and I...”

“Oh lordy. You didn’t know,” said McCoy.

“The only events I remember from the Genesis planet are the few that I saw through your eyes,” said Spock.

“Yes. Well, your body entered the _plak tow_. Saavik did what had to be done.”

“I cannot argue with the logic of her actions. I was just unaware that she and I had been intimate.”

“She and your body were intimate, Spock. _You_ were where you always are – right here, driving me out of my tree.”

McCoy felt the tremor of Spock’s laughter against his back.

“Anyway, we got that Klingon hunk of junk repaired, renamed, and aired out as best we could. Starfleet had run out of patience with Sarek’s Vulcan obstructionism. They wanted us home _tout de suite_ – with the HMS _Bounty_ , if you please. The Vulcan High Council offered us sanctuary, but we took a vote, and we decided to go home and face the music.

“You decided to come with us. I was against it.”

“You were of the opinion that I was _non compos mentis_ ,” said Spock.

“I was of the opinion that risking you in any way scared the hell out of me.”

[ _fear, loneliness, anxiety, no doubt the implant is getting a workout_ ]

“I was unable to resume my duties as your husband. If I had, I would have been aware of your true concerns and I would have given them more weight.”

“Yeah, but you would have insisted on coming along anyway.”

“I believe your assessment is correct.”

“And a good thing you did, since you were the only one who spoke Humpback.”

 

***

 

An extra-terrestrial tourist threw a fit because it came all the way to Earth for some whale-watching, only to find out that humans had managed to wipe the whole species out hundreds of years earlier. “Hey remember that neat sling-shot, time travel trick we did with the Sun that time? I bet we could use that to go get us some whales!” someone (Kirk) said. McCoy just closed his eyes and held on.

Now McCoy was putting together a giant fish tank in the hold of a Klingon Bird-of-Prey while Spock talked to whales and Kirk flirted his way into the good graces of their human advocate.

“You’re doing a fine job, Doctor,” said Scotty. “The galaxy lost one hell of a welder when you took up the medical arts.”

 

 

Spock regarded the whales. It would simply be wrong to not consult them in this matter. He removed his robe and boots, and slipped into their enclosure. They seemed more curious about him than alarmed at his behavior. He placed a hand near the eye of the closest whale.

[I am Spock.]

[I am trillpurrclick, but the others like you say, ‘Gracie.’]

[Others like me?]

[Like you, not like you. Like _G_ _illian Taylor (so nice! We like her!)._ You come from a far place.]

[Yes. Vulcan. _This star._ ]

[George talks sometimes to others from a far place. This is the first time one from a far place talks to me!]

[I come from a far time, too.]

[Far time?]

[ _The sun above the water, passes by faster and faster until it is a blur._ ]

[That is many lives.]

[Yes. In that far time there are no more like you.]

[No people like us?]

[No. And the others from the far place are looking for you. They are destroying the… _ocean._ ]

[Water?]

Spock was confused. Why couldn’t he convey this concept? [ _The water beyond the wall._ ]

[ _???_ ]

Spock concentrated. [ _The cold deep places, the blue places with sun above, the swift places,_ _the icy places_ _full of food, the surface with air and stars._ ]

[Death? Joy? Life? Love? Oh! The world. They destroy the world!]

[Yes, Gracie. You are wise. I thought _Ocean_ , but I meant World.]

Spock swam to the surface for air. He took a few breaths before rejoining the whales.

[I would like to take you and George back with me to the far time.]

[So George can sing them his song?]

[Yes.]

[George and I and the calf within will be the only people in the ocean.]

[You are pregnant?]

[ _Happiness. Fear._ ]

[You fear for the young one in the wide world.]

[Hunters.]

[There are no hunters from the surface in the far time. There are few hunters left below it. The people like me would care for you. The journey is risky, but my… _pod_ wish to return. We must have two of your people or we have nothing to return to. Will you help us?]

[I am asking George.]

Spock waited.

[Yes, Spock. We will help.]

[Thank you, Gracie. We leave soon. Tomorrow. It will be sudden and strange. Do not be afraid.]

[ _Gillian Taylor_ has seen you. I think that she is angry.]

[I’d better go. Until tomorrow.]

[Tomorrow.]

 

 

Back aboard the HMS _Bounty_ , Spock had little to do. Someone had to oversee the repair of the dilithium crystals, and that fell to Spock since Mr. Scott was still building a tank with McCoy. It was work that didn’t require much of Spock’s attention – merely making a few adjustments whenever a sensor went off, which it rarely did.

It left him with plenty of time to contemplate how he felt about the possible destruction of Earth, which was the only other task that had been set before him.

Spock thought about Earth – the Academy, Starfleet headquarters. He really hadn’t spent much time anywhere but San Francisco – which was being destroyed as the probe tore the oceans apart, flinging the water out as if it could uncover the missing whales.

There was something about that scene, something familiar and disquieting. The darkened sky, the threatening waves – they looked like... fear.

Was he experiencing fear?

Vulcans were taught, almost from the moment they could understand speech, that fear was the quickest, surest, and most insidious way to conquer reason. It led to wrath and hate. It could destroy whole societies. It must be entirely suppressed. Even if other emotions were allowed a bit of leeway in Vulcan culture, fear was not. It was the Vulcan way.

It is not my way, he thought. He had learned to allow himself to feel his emotions, to experience them carefully, to acknowledge them. Then the suppression, if appropriate, came more easily. Otherwise, suppression became increasingly difficult.

He considered the image that he had named “fear.” It was a storm on an ocean, violent and dark. His mother had said that his emotions would surface. When she had used the word “surface,” he had thought “buried,” but maybe “immersed” was the correct analogy. The exterior was placid and calm, but the emotions would rise and disturb that serenity sooner or later. He could choose to control that process.

Spock allowed the storm to rise into his conscious mind. His heart rate increased. His breathing became shallow. His stomach clenched. One by one he corrected these physical responses. Once his body was again behaving within its usual parameters, it became easier to examine the emotion.

Fear for Gracie, fear for Chekov who was missing, fear for Sulu, Uhura, Scott, Kirk, and McCoy. They were connected to him. They had risked themselves to come back for him. Now he feared for them. They were his... friends. McCoy was his husband. He didn’t want to see them hurt. He didn’t want to lose them.

He acknowledged the fear, allowed the storm to spend itself. The ocean calmed. The stars came out, orderly and clear.

His mother had been correct.

 

 

McCoy somehow survived the house of terrors that was the Twentieth Century hospital. He understood, of course, that this was once state-of-the-art, and that it represented a necessary step in the journey from boiled roots and prayer to the discipline that he thought of as medicine, but he really, _really_ hated knives and pain and all of the general suffering that he knew had gone on here. He hated that the lucky ones were the ones who could afford to get in.

At least it wasn’t a Nineteenth Century hospital. He was pretty sure such a thing would have given him nightmares for months.

Anyway, Chekov was repaired and retrieved, and they were off to fetch the whales. That was when McCoy noticed Spock looking a little – vulnerable. It was a look that he doubted anyone but he or Kirk would have noticed. Kirk was busy though – whales and pretty marine biologists and all that.

Spock was troubled at the prospect of making a guess.

Spock’s emotions were staging a comeback, and they sure had terrible timing.

McCoy applied a bit of diplomacy, a bracing dose of sarcasm, and ended with what he hoped was enough reassurance to help, but not so much as to seem facile. Spock would get them through or he wouldn’t. McCoy was betting on “would.”

Spock got them through. The whales were swimming in the bay. The probe was apparently satisfied with George’s ability as a soloist. Everyone was soaking wet and grinning like idiots – even Spock.

It was really too bad they were facing down a court-martial tomorrow.

It might have been a sleepless night, but at the age of fifty-eight, even a galaxy-class worrier like Dr. Leonard McCoy couldn’t spend one night building whale tanks and expect to be up the next fretting over his legal (or other) woes. Federation jail cells were pretty much on par with a starship officer’s quarters, comfort-wise, and the guards were kind enough to include a couple of aspirin with both dinner and breakfast, so McCoy was in surprisingly decent shape for his tribunal.

He had expected them to go easy on him and the rest of the crew, considering the whole "captured a Klingon warship, retrieved the son of an important Vulcan ambassador, and saved the world from imminent destruction" thing, but he hadn’t expected to actually be rewarded. If you could call another tour in Starfleet a reward.

The _Enterprise-_ A was certainly a nice surprise. It was a newly refit _Constitution-_ class ship. The bridge was gorgeous, and they’d added a forward observation lounge. The only person who wasn’t ecstatic at this turn of events was Sulu, who was currently deep in the throes of infatuation with the _Excelsior_.

Everything was almost ideal. Almost.

McCoy was poking around in the sickbay when Kirk caught up with him.

“Bones! There you are! I’m on my way back to Earth. I promised Carol Marcus that I would meet her tonight if I wasn’t on a transport to the nearest penal colony.”

“Sounds good,” said McCoy, absently.

“Something bothering you, Bones?” asked Kirk, in that irritatingly mock-innocent way he had.

McCoy leaned against one of the biobeds. “I just realized that I haven’t been giving much thought to the future lately, what with everything that’s been going on. Now it appears I’ve been drafted again.”

“You don’t want to come along for the ride? Bones, I nee--”

“Don’t even think about saying it, Jim.” McCoy stared at his feet. “I need to talk to Spock. Problem is, I can’t even find him.”

“Really? He can’t have gotten far.” That tone again!

“Well, he ain’t on the bridge. Or in the lab, the officers’ lounge, the recreation room, or the First Officer’s quarters.”

Kirk grasped McCoy’s shoulder. “Why don’t you get some rest, Bones. Things will look better in the morning.”

“Jim, it’s only 1800 hours.”

“Quarters, Doctor. That’s an order.”

McCoy finally took the hint.

 

 

Spock sat in the window seat with the lights low, wishing that he had his lyre. He had told Kirk that, if there were no more pressing matters to which he should attend, he wished to go and speak with Dr. McCoy.

Kirk had replied that he could think of no matter more pressing than that of his First Officer (should Spock wish to accept the position) and his Chief Medical Officer (should McCoy wish to accept _that_ position) finally reuniting.

“He’s missed you, Spock. Every day.”

“I shall retire to our quarters then,” said Spock. “If you happen to see he who is my husband, would you please send him home?”

“Happy to,” said Kirk, grinning.

Now Spock closed his eyes and entered a state of light meditation. There was no reason to assume that McCoy was avoiding him. He had not accepted Spock’s offer to end their union. He had not dismissed Spock.

He still wore his wedding band.

So where was McCoy? The ship’s computer was no help. The internal sensors were offline.

Spock was considering the wisdom of searching McCoy out, when the door to their quarters opened, and McCoy entered.

Spock stood up.

McCoy peered into the gloom.

“Spock?” asked McCoy. “I’ve been looking all over for you. What are you doing here?”

“These are my quarters, Doctor.”

Realization suddenly dawned on McCoy. “Of course! They would have assigned us the same quarters because we’re – uhm. You’re my --”

“I am your husband,” said Spock, holding out his hand. “If you’ll have me.”

“If?” McCoy closed the distance between them. “Oh, I’ll have you, Spock. I’d love to have you, as a matter of fact.”

And just like that, chuckling at his own double entendre, McCoy took Spock’s hand and –

[ _...joy – as clear and piercing as birdsong, as bright as sunlight sparkling on water,_ _more vast_ _than mountains are high and oceans are deep_ ]

The first kiss was soft and chaste – a simple, brief press of lips.

[ _relief, fulfillment, answers_

_skin against skin, mind to mind_

_strange_ _ness_ _and fear_ _giving way in an instant to familiarity_ _and comfort_ ]

The second kiss was anything but chaste. McCoy’s mouth was cool and sweet and insistent against Spock’s. McCoy’s body pressed snugly to his, McCoy’s arms squeezing him tight. Even McCoy’s mind seemed to pull at Spock’s, drawing it in as if he had missed this contact as much as he had longed for the physical one.

The yearning that Spock had been experiencing for days now was one that McCoy had been feeling for months. Spock had expected to speak to McCoy – he had come to a realization and wished to share it with him – but he found that he couldn’t deny this wish for contact first. In fact, he wondered how he had ever thought this encounter would proceed in any other way.

There was just one problem.

“Too many clothes, Doctor.”

“Agreed,” said McCoy, setting to work on the closures of Spock’s uniform. In the interest of efficiency, Spock helped him.

Divested of his own jacket and shirt, Spock next worked at removing McCoy’s jacket and shirt. McCoy kicked off his boots, then hooked his left toe into his right sock and slipped it down and off. He repeated this maneuver, clutching Spock’s upper arms for balance, with the other sock. Spock, in the meanwhile, had managed to remove his own footwear while somehow keeping them both upright. No easy task, considering that McCoy’s hands and mouth were everywhere, caressing and kissing. Pants came next, then underwear.

McCoy gasped and stilled at the first brush of Spock’s penis against his own. He looked down, grasped both of their cocks, and squeezed them gently together, stroking slowly and softly, indulging in the warmth and revelation of this touch.

[ _g_ _ratitude and joy and need_ _a_ _nd wave after wave of pleasure_ ]

McCoy dropped to his knees and took Spock into his mouth.

[ _w_ _arm and soft and wet,_ _d_ _elicate tip of the tongue tracing veins, tracing bumps and ridges_

_scent and heat and silk_

_flat_ _t_ _ongue cradling the head in velvet,_ _s_ _afe,_ _c_ _herished._ ]

McCoy’s hands skimmed over Spock’s thighs, up over the bones of his hips.

Spock looked down and saw McCoy watching him. He gifted McCoy with one of his rare smiles, caressed McCoy’s face and hair, felt McCoy’s need to fill his senses, to fulfill all of the denied moments of desire from these last four months.

[ _l_ _ong fingers in silken hair, circling, stroking ears, mouth, jaw_

 _warmth and intimacy and skin against his tongue_ ]

When he tasted the bitter metallic flavor of his pre-ejaculate on McCoy’s tongue, Spock took McCoy’s hands and pulled him back to standing. Then he dipped slightly and lifted McCoy into a bridal carry.

It was ridiculous, and McCoy was laughing and shaking his head. But he went with it, wrapping his arms around Spock and burying his face in Spock’s neck as if to stave off embarrassment by not looking. Spock closed his eyes at the sensation of warm staccato breaths against his neck and shoulder.

Spock laid McCoy in the center of the narrow bed, then laid his own body on McCoy’s – legs tangled, cocks side-by-side and pressed between their stomachs. Spock braced his head on his hand, his elbow near McCoy’s ear.

The frantic need to reconnect had given way to a quieter desire to revel in that connection and, for the moment, they were content to allow joy and comfort to flow sweetly between them.

[ _home, this is home_ ]

Spock touched McCoy’s body with purpose, wanting to hear him voice his pleasure. He rubbed the heel of his hand across McCoy’s pectoral muscle, dragging it slowly over his nipple.

[ _the familiar touch, intense and sensual_

 _the gasp, the_ _arch_ _, please_

_fingers pinch and roll_

_bliss radiates from this point of flesh_ ]

McCoy’s moan vibrated through Spock’s body. He placed his mouth against McCoy’s other nipple and sucked.

McCoy’s fingers wound through Spock’s hair, brushed the tips of his ears.

[ _sensation loops and reverberates between them rich with emotion,_ _gratitude and_ _delight_ _from the depth of the heart of the bones of the ocean, too much to bear and too soon to end_ ]

Spock lifted his head, and they watched each other, their irises the barest halos around pupils blown dark with desire, their mouths swollen from kissing.

It was time to finish this. Spock wanted [ _controlled chaos and sticky fluids and coruscating stars falling from the sky_ ] their orgasm.

He rolled his hips slowly, dragging the shafts of their penises together, the heads slipping more easily in the warm liquid emerging from McCoy.

[ _again and more, want and longing to share and spill,_ _the salt sea warm and safe despite_ _swells_ _carrying their bodies higher and higher toward stars glittering like diamonds against the blue-black velvet of the sky_

_their shared seascape, the deep blue ocean glittering in the light of millions of stars and the cloudy slash of the galaxy like a spill of semen_

_and emotions_ _–_ _caring affection admiration tenderness – as thick and as warm as blood flowing between their hearts_ ]

As Spock came back to himself, he felt rapid breaths feathering over his left clavicle but also ruffling his hair. It took him a second to realize that the clavicle belonged to McCoy. Spock had slid his weight off McCoy’s body and they were lying side-by-side, still wrapped around each other. Spock’s head was pillowed on McCoy’s arm.

He could feel McCoy also attempting to sort out which sensations belonged to whom.

“T’Lar said this would happen,” said McCoy. “That we’d be drawn more deeply into each others’ minds.”

“You spoke to her?” asked Spock.

“Yeah, during the _fal-tor-pan._ ”

[ _loss and fear, panic licks at the edges of his consciousness_

_her voice is soothing and sympathetic in his mind –_

“ _Y_ _ou have done well, McCoy, but you must let him go if you wish to keep him.”_

“ _How do I do that?”_

“ _You are a healer. You already know.”_

_separate it, forget what you feel while she heals the body, how do I do that without the healing to concentrate on?_

“ _Then assist me, McCoy. Thus.”_

 _he sees what must be done, together they escort Spock’s_ katra _back into his own body_ ]

“Thank you,” said Spock, “for keeping my _katra_ safe, and thank you for waiting while I healed.”

“I thought Vulcans didn’t go around thanking people for doing their jobs,” said McCoy. “It’s my duty to care for you, both as your husband and your physician. Not to mention that you got into that mess in the first place when you were saving lives, mine included. Besides, having you back is thanks enough.”

[ _there are no debts between us_ ]

Spock smiled and tightened the arm that lay across McCoy’s waist.

“I do approve of how snuggly you’ve become after your ordeal,” said McCoy.

“If I move any farther away from you, Doctor, I will fall off this bed.”

“Ah, just like the good old days.” McCoy grinned.

“I fail to see how acquiring a larger bed negatively impacted the quality of our lives.”

“No? I guess we’ll have to requisition one in the morning then. Until it gets here… well, it’s a good thing we’re both beanpoles.”

“You would sleep better if I removed myself.”

“Like hell I would.” McCoy laughed.

“I love you.”

McCoy stopped laughing and looked at Spock. From this position, he mostly saw the top of Spock’s head and a bit of upside-down profile. If there was an expression there, it was impossible to read. “I love you too, Spock. I… ah… never expected you to say it though, out loud and everything.”

“I am never sure what Humans mean when they use that word.”

“It is kind of a moving target.”

“Is that why you’ve never said it?” asked Spock.

“I’ve come close, once or twice,” McCoy admitted.

[ _medbay on a_ _B_ _ird-of-_ _P_ _rey,_ _Spock is silent, resting for the rigors to come, McCoy is watching over this body, this second chance, this miracle_

 _I love you he thinks, I miss you he says._ ]

“Gracie said that this...

[ _t_ _he ocean is a thousand shades of blue under the dark sky full of thousands upon thousands of stars,_ _t_ _hey float together on the calm breast of this sea,_ _i_ _t is warm here in this place between_ _depth and height,_ _but below and above the_ _re is_ _cold, kept at bay by reason and order, by affection and_ _tenderness_ _,_ _by duty and commitment_ ]

...is love. It is that which we have created between us,” said Spock. “I meditated upon this for many hours last night. I understand love as the practice of mercy and kindness, that is both a Vulcan and a Human ideal. But an understanding of the emotion has always proven elusive. Even Humans say that they have thought they loved, only to find that they were ultimately mistaken.”

“Humans aren’t always sure what they mean by it either,” said McCoy.

“I am certain that this [ _sea and sky_ ] is what I feel for you and what I practice with you, and the proper term for it is love.”

McCoy cupped Spock’s jaw and tipped his head back until he could kiss him.

[ _his heart, cracked and shining with light_ ]

“Big spoon or little spoon?” asked Spock

“Let me clean up first,” said McCoy, wriggling out from under Spock’s limbs. “Then little spoon, if you please.”

 

***

 

“I was surprised at how much the _Enterprise-_ A felt exactly like the old _Enterprise_ ,” said McCoy.”

“They were the same class of ship,” Spock pointed out, “and we were home.”

McCoy had to smile at that.

“Scotty sure loved her, once he got everything up to his standards.”

 

***

 

“How far from space-worthy is she, Scotty?” asked Kirk.

“The vertical warp drive is a thing of beauty,” said Scott, “but everything else on this ship is as half-assed as it is humanly possible to make it.”

“How long will you require to carry out the necessary repairs?” asked Spock.

Scotty wasn’t sure how to answer this. There were about two too many captains on this ship, counting himself.

With Kirk he would pad his estimate by at least half. He’d double it if he thought he could, because sooner or later, Kirk would want it done in less time. With Spock, he’d have given an accurate guess. If Spock thought that Scotty had overestimated, he’d start pointing out ways to improve the efficiency with which the task could be performed. It was an extremely annoying practice. Now they were both standing in his brand-new engine room.

He squinted dubiously at both of them.

“Two weeks, at least, Captain… uh, Captains.”

“You can have three, Mr. Scott,” said Kirk.

“Three! I’m not some kind of wizard that can just wave a magic… wait… three is more than two.”

“Yes, Scotty,”

Well that just threw an interphasic coil spanner into the works.

“Alright, three then,” said Scotty.

With the luxury of almost twice the amount of time that it should take, Scotty found himself double-checking manuals that he knew by heart, making small and totally unnecessary improvements, and even enjoying a rare bit of shore leave visiting and revisiting some favorite pubs, often in the company of the crewmen who were supposed to be fixing doors and whatnot. As a result, when the _Enterprise_ was suddenly called into action, almost 3 weeks later, Scotty hadn’t even fixed the transporter yet. The turbolifts were acting a bit wonky too.

“Well, at least someone finished up our quarters,” said McCoy, dropping his duffel on the bed, stripping out of most of his civilian clothes, and putting on his uniform. “Not that the old quarters wouldn’t still be an improvement over sleeping on the ground.”

“One wonders why you agreed to it in the first place,” said Spock, also changing into his uniform.

“Yes one does. I blame Vancouver. Three nights of sex in a big, poofy bed was just too much luxury for me. I felt I needed to do penance by sleeping on pine cones and rocks with Jim Kirk.”

“I see. So you would prefer not to accompany me when I visit Gracie again this winter?”

“Like hell.” McCoy grinned and grabbed Spock’s still-open uniform jacket. He gave him a sound kissing.

“We are due on the bridge, Doctor.”

McCoy pulled on his own jacket. “I don’t know why I have to go. It’s not like I’m useful on the bridge anyway.”

“That has never prevented you before,” said Spock.

 

 

Well, the upshot was this – someone had raised a small army on the saddest little rock in the galaxy. Three ambassadors whose job it was to pretend that there was some kind of valid peace-making still occurring there had been taken hostage, and it was up to Kirk to resolve the whole sorry situation before someone important enough to be used as an excuse to start a war ended up dead.

And there was a mysterious Vulcan that Spock seemed to know.

After a little interpretive dance, some horse-thievery, and the rescue of some hostages who were unwilling to be rescued, they were captured by the “Army of Light,” a group that put the “rag” in “rag-tag.”

Oh, and they were led by Spock’s half-brother, Sybok. Surprise!

A spell in the brig while Kirk yelled at Spock – which was McCoy’s job, and no one, not even James T. Kirk, was allowed to horn in on it – ended with Scotty busting them out of the joint. A chase ensued. Scotty ended up in the sickbay. Kirk, Spock, and McCoy were finally run to ground in the forward observation lounge, where Sybok tried to recruit them into his scheme to find God.

He failed. So he opted to leave the three of them there to stew in their own juices while he and the rest of the crew went off to get everyone killed trying to cross the Great Barrier at the center of the galaxy.

 

Spock watched McCoy standing by the old ship’s wheel. His knuckles were white where he gripped the handle. When McCoy had released himself from Sybok’s thrall, his pain had returned as if the wound were fresh.

They had a tacit agreement – nothing more than a brief touching of minds, such as what may be accomplished through a discreet brushing of fingers when they were in the company of others.

McCoy needed more than that right now, and Spock found it unbearable to leave him to suffer alone. The only person here was Jim, and Jim was… family – certainly more so than the half-brother who had left them here. There was no reason that he shouldn’t witness this.

Spock went to McCoy and laid his hand over the one holding the wheel.

[ _he slides the control into the port on the biobed, he keys in the sequence to override breathing support, the monitor falls silent_

_he keys in the sequence, the monitor is silent_

_silence, no music, no breath_

“ _We’ll get through this, Leonard. I know it hurts and you miss your mama. I miss her too. But we’ll take good care of each other. I love you._

_I’ll always be here for you._

_We’ll take good care.”_ ]

“You are not alone,” Spock said, softly.

McCoy looked away from the window. His eyes rested on Spock’s.

“I killed him,” he whispered.

“You let him die, at his own request. It was the only way to grant him the cessation of his pain.”

“I wanted to fight him. If I had fought...”

“You cannot see the future. You acted with the knowledge you possessed at the time. I would have done the same in your place.”

“It was the logical decision, I know.”

“It was the compassionate decision, as well.”

Spock took McCoy in his arms and held him.

[ _light and peace and tenderness_

_McCoy lets go, stops trying find an answer where there is none, lets the light in to fill this old recently torn hole in his heart_

_the past can’t be undone, not this time anyway_ ]

Spock took McCoy’s hand again, and they went to where Kirk waited in one of the seating areas. They took the sofa opposite the one in which Kirk was seated. He leaned forward, clearly concerned for McCoy.

“Are you alright, Bones?”

“I’ve been better,” said McCoy. He smiled a little. “I made peace with it before. I’m sure I will again.”

“And you, Spock?” asked Kirk.

“As I stated before, it is an old pain – one that I resolved long ago. Indeed, I believe that Sybock is more responsible for it than Sarek ever was.”

“How so?”

“Vulcan brains are remarkable, but we do not retain memories from when we were two minutes old. That was Sybok’s rather… subjective view of my relationship with our father.”

“Okay. Now explain to me what this thing is that he’s using to control my crew.”

“It is called the Technique of Release,” said Spock. “It is part of an old healing ritual from long before the Awakening. It is, for obvious reasons, forbidden.”

“The obvious reason being that it brainwashes people?” asked McCoy.

“It was not intended to, and used correctly, it was a remarkably effective therapy for those who were deeply affected by traumatic events. When used as Sybok is now doing, however, it causes a sort of extreme transference, leveraging the subject’s emotional release into almost unconditional loyalty to the practitioner. As I understand it, the effect lasts for a few weeks or months, depending on the subject. Given the right circumstances, the subject may break free of their own accord, as you have.”

“What kind of circumstances?” asked Kirk. “Is there something we can use to free the rest of the crew from his influence?”

“Perhaps. The effect is stronger if the subject felt particularly isolated or at fault for the trauma. The simpler solution would be to eliminate Sybok. If he were to perish, his hold would perish with him. However, I would rather avoid that course of action if at all possible.”

“I understand, but if it comes down to Sybok or the crew, I will choose my people,” said Kirk.

Spock nodded.

“There is one more condition in our favor,” said Spock. “The technique is tiring to perform. His attempts on the three of us may have exhausted him for the time being.”

“You mean Scotty may be unaffected.”

“Indeed.”

“What I don’t understand is why I couldn’t break away from him,” said McCoy. “I just kept allowing it.”

“Permission may be coerced,” said Spock. “It is a reprehensible act, but Sybok follows his own code of integrity. He feels the ends justify the means in this case. Once you allowed him in, even a little, he was able to ‘suggest’ that you continue to grant him access. If we survive this incident, I will teach you how to resist suggestions. I was remiss not to do so before.”

“You can’t see the future,” said McCoy.

“I’m confused,” said Kirk. “That’s something other than a Vulcan mind-meld Sybok’s using?”

“It is the mind-touch,” said Spock. “It uses the same neural pathways, but the contact is not as deep. As Dr. McCoy implied, both parties must agree to the contact. It is usually a form of communication between intimates.”

“Like spouses,” said Kirk. “That’s what you were doing earlier.” He nodded toward the ship’s wheel behind them.

Spock cleared his throat slightly. “Yes.”

McCoy smiled. “He’s shy about it. It’s not something a Vulcan would do in front of others, at least not as obviously as that.”

“If all Sybok needed was a little toehold in my mind in order to gain access to my worst memories, why couldn’t he do it?” asked Kirk.

“Some people instinctively reject mental contact,” said McCoy.

“I do believe you may be one of those people, Jim,” said Spock. “It was not logical to attempt to gain control of us while we were together. I believe that he hoped to weaken your resolve by removing your allies as you watched.”

“If that’s so, he completely misread the situation,” said Kirk.

“I have noticed over the years that the greatest flaw in his reasoning is his difficulty attributing motivations to others that do not apply to himself. His own companions, while he genuinely cares for their welfare, are not his friends.”

“And if his vision of a benevolent god that waits at _Sha Ka Ree_ is similarly colored?” asked Kirk.

“The Great Barrier may not be the true threat,” said Spock.

 

Well, they made it through the Great Barrier, and Sybok graciously invited the three of them to join him in meeting God.

God apparently does not give out His exact coordinates, so there was a bit of a walk to get there.

On the way, McCoy asked Sybok if he was married.

“No. My life has been entirely devoted to finding _Sha Ka Ree_. Why?”

“Just making sure I don’t have any more surprise in-laws.”

Sybok glanced sharply at Spock. Spock looked serenely back. “There are none that I know of, Doctor,” said Sybok.

They were finally granted an audience with God, the Great and Terrible. God did not impress Kirk nor Spock, and He really managed to get McCoy’s dander up when He started poking at people with energy blasts.

In the end, Sybok had to sacrifice himself, and Spock had to forge a temporary alliance with the Klingon ambassador, but they managed to get back to the ship and get everyone else safely home.

 

***

 

“You said you hadn’t thought about him in years,” said McCoy.

“It was painful to me when he left. I felt as if he understood me in ways that my parents could not. I searched for him over the years, once I too had left Vulcan.”

“But you couldn’t find him?”

“I’d hear rumors or encounter one of his former followers. It was they who disabused me of my unrealistic ideas of him.”

“He didn’t care about you,” said McCoy, softly.

“As you saw. As he confessed to you. There was only his cause. It was his intent to do good, and when he realized his mistake, he had the integrity and courage to rectify it. They were just two more of his excellent qualities, but he was always somehow less than the sum of his parts.”

McCoy noticed that the sun had almost reached the top of the western garden wall. “We should go in, replicate us up some grub.”

“Indeed.”

McCoy stood, but had to sit back down. His vision was dark around the edges and he could hear his blood rushing like the ocean in his ears. Spock was up immediately, bending over him, hands on McCoy’s upper arms.

“Leonard. Are you well?”

McCoy shook his head a bit to clear it. “I just stood up too fast, is all.” Spock looked unconvinced.

McCoy stood again, more carefully this time. “See. I’m fine.”

Spock offered McCoy his arm. “I fear this exercise is too fatiguing.”

“Some food and sleep and I’ll be in the pink, Spock. But, we’ll take it easy tomorrow. I promise.”


	6. Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuing mission includes teaching the young 'uns a thing or two.

“So, I promised today we’d take it easy,” said McCoy, as they got themselves arranged on the bench. Spock had brought out more pillows, making sure that McCoy was comfortable before he eased himself back into McCoy’s arms.

“What do you have in mind?” asked Spock.

“Well, we haven’t talked about the kids much.”

“Are you referring to the cadets?”

“No, I’m referring to all of the years we spent raising goats.” McCoy rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m talking about the cadets – and the ensigns doing their medical residencies with us, and the enlisted trainees, and the string of Vulcans you mother-henned.”

“I followed the Vulcan tradition of mentoring those who had chosen a career similar to my own,” said Spock. “My actions in no way resembled those of a bird with her progeny.”

“Uh-huh. Let’s talk about that first group of cadets on the _Enterprise_ -A, why don’t we?”

“You wish to discuss Dr. Gutierrez? Are you certain?”

“Yeah, I would. I’d really like to talk about her. And I’d like to talk about Anniki and Somek, and how you played Cupid for them.”

 

_***_

 

“I tell you, Jim. It’s been what? A month? Almost everything we had was destroyed on the old _Enterprise_ , but the place is covered in curtains and candles again.”

“I think it looks great,” said Kirk. He and McCoy had just finished breakfast and were walking to the turbolift.

“It looks fine! That’s not the point! Where the hell does he even get all of it? I can’t find anything in the synthesizer’s menu that comes close to matching the description of this stuff.”

“Bones.” Kirk was nearly giggling by now. “Your ensigns will be arriving in an hour.”

McCoy narrowed his eyes momentarily at being sidetracked from his rant.

“I know that.”

“Good, if you see Spock before I do, let him know that Mr. Somek will be here twenty minutes later than originally planned. There was a delay in the transport from Vulcan.”

“Will do.”

Part of the _Enterprise’s_ new mission was to continue training personnel. As a result, McCoy had four freshly-graduated ensigns who would be doing a year of the their residencies on board, and there was an unusually large proportion of cadets and trainees among the crew.

McCoy was waiting in the transporter room when Julia Gutierrez came aboard to do her first year of service on a space-faring vessel. She dropped her bag and practically threw her arms around him.

“Is this allowed?” she asked, her arms still tight around McCoy’s waist.

“Hug first and ask questions later?” He laughed. “I reckon I can refrain from being your C.O. for five minutes, for old time’s sake.”

Julia snickered and let him go. “I suppose I should attempt to pick up the pieces of my professional decorum. It’s just that I expected you to be some barely recognizable old man, but I swear you look just like the last time I saw you. I was suddenly twelve again for a second there.”

“Well, it’s nice to know that I’m not quite a codger yet.”

Julia grinned, then pulled herself up straight. “Dr. Julia Gutierrez, reporting for duty.”

McCoy gestured for one of the transporter crewmen. “Dr. Gutierrez, please follow Crewman Kesseel to your quarters. You and the other residents will have a briefing at 1100 hours, in the sickbay.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” she said, turning to leave.

“And, Julia?”

She turned back. “Yes, Doctor?”

“I’m very proud of you.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” she said with a smile.

 

Spock also had a new protégé, Somek. He was an exobiologist, and as such he worked closely with both Spock and McCoy. Like Spock, he had a Terran parent as well as a Vulcan one, though in his case it was his father who was Human. Somek was quiet and hard working, and he was willing to let McCoy poke at his brain a bit.

“Your mesiofrontal cortex is not as well-developed as a typical Vulcan’s, but it’s within the normal range for a Vulcan/Human hybrid of your age. Are you able to suppress your emotions?” McCoy asked.

“To an extent.”

“How much control do you have over your autonomic nervous system?”

“My abilities in that area are well above average.”

“And can you initiate a mind-meld?”

“Yes, but I am no adept.”

“Have you ever had your brain monitored for any length of time?”

“No.”

“I’d like to try that at some point, preferably when you could spare the time to perform certain mental exercises – to test the plasticity of your brain.”

“I have long suspected that I am deficient in that area, as well. It would be an intriguing line of inquiry.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “You’re not as ‘deficient’ in that area as I am, ensign, and yet I somehow manage to get along.”

“Of course, Doctor. You are Human.”

“Mmmm. Now for the unpleasant part.” McCoy consulted the PADD with Somek’s records on it. “I see that you’re thirty-two years old. Have you experienced _pon farr_ yet?”

“I --” Somek cleared his throat. “I have not.”

“Are you betrothed?”

“No.”

McCoy’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re cutting it pretty close, ensign.”

“I am aware of that. I hope to have the matter resolved very soon.”

“I hope so too. Fortunately, the _Enterprise_ is not due for any deep-space missions. If that changes, we will have to leave you behind, either on Earth or Vulcan. You understand?”

“Yes, of course.”

“If you experience any sign of your… cycle beginning, you need to inform me immediately. If that’s too uncomfortable, you may instead inform Captain Spock.”

“Understood, Doctor.”

“Good. You’re dismissed.”

 

 

And then there was Cadet Anniki Koskinen – ace pilot, martial arts enthusiast, fair-to-middling programmer, and general force of nature. Kirk assigned her to the position of night watch helmsman under Sulu. Spock was eating dinner with Kirk and Sulu when the subject of her performance came up.

“She’s a natural. She piloted us through that magnetic storm and never broke a sweat,” said Sulu. “When she’s bored, however...” Sulu’s voice trailed off.

“When she’s bored, Mr. Sulu?” said Spock.

“Her mind drifts or she starts talking.”

“I see. Talking about what?” asked Kirk.

“She has an impressive array of hobbies,” said Sulu.

“Such as?”

“Such as cooking, late Twenty-first century media, and Vulcan hand-to-hand combat.”

“What? No fencing, ancient weapons, or carnivorous plants?” asked Kirk.

The look Sulu gave Kirk was highly insubordinate.

“I think she’ll settle down in time, Sulu.”

 

 

“God, Somek. I am so sorry.”

“The incident is entirely my fault, Anniki.” Somek was sitting on an exam table, holding his left forearm in his right hand, trying to keep his dislocated shoulder at a slightly less painful angle. He and Koskinen were both wearing loose shirts and trousers of the type used for martial arts practice. “I should have anticipated your next move.”

“No, it was meant to surprise you. It’s my only advantage.” She grimaced ruefully.

“Well, it was quite effective.”

McCoy watched this exchange while Gutierrez prepared a hypospray. “This is just a mild analgesic for the pain and swelling,” she said. She administered the hypo to Somek’s good arm.

She moved around to the back of the bio-bed. “How do you feel?” she asked.

“The medication seems to be taking effect,” said Somek.

“Good. If you’re ready, I’m just going to manipulate your arm around until I’ve popped the joint back into its socket.”

McCoy had seen Gutierrez perform shoulder reductions before. A dislocated shoulder is a fairly common injury on a ship full of people who regularly practice various forms of combat training. She seemed to be hesitating now, and McCoy wondered why. She began the procedure. Somek inhaled sharply. It was a small reaction that could mean anything from “mildly uncomfortable but surprising” to “agonizing.” It was difficult to tell with Vulcans. McCoy moved in for a closer look. Somek didn’t seem to be tensing, but Gutierrez had frozen. She took a deep breath and continued the rotation, but she wasn’t applying enough pressure. After another try, McCoy took over. The joint slid easily home. McCoy nodded at Gutierrez and she picked up the regenerator. She schooled her face to mask her agitation, and began using the instrument to repair any torn tissue.

After Somek and Koskinen had left (both of them still vying for the blame in the incident), McCoy questioned her. “What happened?”

“I just... didn’t want to hurt him. I know it’s silly. The three of us were friends at the Academy too. I’ve seen him take worse, but he’s Vulcan; just because he doesn’t show pain doesn’t mean he isn’t feeling it.”

“I know Vulcans too, Julia. He had it under control. And your hesitation prolonged his discomfort.”

“I know,” she said, quietly.

“It can be very difficult to treat someone you know, but on a starship, it’s something that will come up, and fairly often. A ship this size only has a staff of two, maybe three doctors. An _Excelsior_ -class ship might have four on a good day. It’s inevitable that you will have to treat people you’re close to. You need to learn to separate the body you’re treating from the person you know, at least for that moment. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Doctor. I understand.”

 

 

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say you have something on your mind, Spock.” McCoy had just come back to their quarters from sickbay. He took one look at how Spock was sitting at the table – his brow furrowed slightly in puzzlement, the tiny flexion of the muscle near his jaw – and knew that Spock was positively fretting.

“I am concerned about Somek.”

“Oh? Take off your shirt,” said McCoy, tugging at Spock’s command-white turtleneck. “I’ll give you a back-rub.”

“It is hardly necessary,” said Spock, nevertheless complying.

“Yes, I know.” It was an old discussion. Spock could relax any muscle in his body at will, blah blah blah, but McCoy enjoyed the contact. If pressed, McCoy might even have admitted that it was a satisfying activity because it was one of the few ways that Spock allowed McCoy to fuss over him. If pressed, Spock might have confessed that he enjoyed being the focus of McCoy’s concern.

Spock leaned forward and placed his folded arms on the table in front of him. McCoy shucked his tunic and went to work, keeping his mind focused on quiet and the muscles of Spock’s back.

“Has Somek done something?” asked McCoy.

“He is… unattached.”

“Yeah, I know. I don’t like it either.”

“He refuses to see the logic in resolving the situation through an intermediary. He is very emotional.”

“Heavens to Betsy. Did he smile? Stub his toe and cuss, maybe?”

“He is… I believe the Human term is ‘lovesick’... over Cadet Koskinen.”

“Ah, you noticed.”

“It is highly unusual in Vulcans, but it does happen. Normally I would urge him to meditate and suppress the emotion.”

“But you aren’t.”

“I believe she is someone who would make a good mate for him. Isn’t this how Humans usually acquire a mate?”

“Humans have employed any number of strategies in that quest.”

They were quiet for a time. McCoy thought peace into Spock as he kneaded the muscles beneath his hands. He could feel the tension giving way, but he also noted the amount of time it was taking and the unusual warmth of Spock’s skin. Spock was so preoccupied with worries about Somek disrupting the ship by going into _pon farr_ that he was a couple of steps behind McCoy in noticing his own symptoms.

McCoy patted Spock’s shoulder, and slipped his tunic back on. “Get some rest. I’ll tell Jim we need to divert to Vulcan.”

 

 

The _Enterprise_ spent some weeks at the Regula I scientific research facility. Starfleet wanted to leave it in place to study the effects of the creation and destruction of the Genesis planet, as well as monitor the Genesis cave. Most of the equipment there was geared toward the making of a Genesis Device, and it represented a rather large allocation of resources, not to mention being top secret. The project itself was being moved to a more secure location. They were there to remove any equipment that would not be needed for the ongoing research at Regula I. Dr. Carol Marcus had come along to oversee the work.

“Either your last conversation with her didn’t go well, or you’re hoping to get back together with her,” said McCoy.

“What makes you say that?” asked Kirk, all innocence.

“You’re as nervous as a mama cat.”

“Not at all, Bones.”

“You ordered fresh-cut flowers for her quarters.”

“A friendly gesture.”

“A friendly gesture that absolutely nobody else we’ve ever transported has rated.”

“You’re reading too much into it,” said Kirk.

 

 

“The Genesis cave is most intriguing, Captain.” Somek was using a tricorder to catalog the various plants growing in the cavern inside the Regula asteroid.

“Indeed. I regretted not having the opportunity to view it the first time we visited,” said Spock.

“Dr. Marcus explained to me that it was created in one day, yet it has survived as a stable ecosystem for over a year. She graciously allowed me to review some of her notes pertaining to the choice of lifeforms for the project.”

“It is most kind of her.”

“Ensign Koskinen would like this.” Somek paused to take in the effect of the garden.

“Perhaps you should ask her to assist you.”

“It would expedite this task. I will do that.”

 

 

“You thought that sticking them together in the Genesis cave would get one of them to finally propose?” McCoy and Spock were eating lunch in the former’s office.

“Gardens are generally considered to be romantic settings, are they not? You seem to enjoy them.”

McCoy didn’t need to be touching Spock to know that Spock was remembering the days spent at his parents’ house on Vulcan, after they had completed _pon farr._ Sarek and Amanda had been away at a negotiation on Betazed. He and Spock had made interesting use of the stone bench in a secluded courtyard.

McCoy didn’t need to touch Spock, but he leaned across the desk and kissed the taste of that memory from his mouth anyway.

“Maybe, later on, we should go catalog some flora ourselves?” said McCoy.

“A most intriguing suggestion, Doctor. But I highly doubt that we could secure the necessary privacy.”

“Too bad.” McCoy sat back down.

Spock shook his head. “It was not this difficult to propose to you.”

“I think we were pretty sure of each other by then.”

“I was not entirely sure.”

“Really? I thought it was obvious that I was crazy about you,” said McCoy.

“I thought that it was your much-discussed-but-seldom-seen logical capabilities that were responsible for your decision.”

“And I thought it was your shriveled little heart that was responsible for yours.”

“Perhaps we were both mistaken,” said Spock.

“Oh no. I was thinking quite rationally,” said McCoy. “It’s only logical to marry someone who makes you happy.”

“Indeed, Doctor,” said Spock, smiling.

 

 

“Ensign?”

Koskinen started. She hadn’t notice Spock’s approach in the darkened dining hall.

“Captain!” She stood at attention. “I was testing a food synthesizer card, sir.”

“As you were.” She sat back down. He looked at the bowl in front of her. It was full of _plomeek_ broth with a bright reddish-purple color. “You are attempting to create a variation containing _gespar_ powder?”

“Yes, sir. There are thirty-two different ingredients that the food synthesizer can add to _plomeek_ broth, and none of them are powdered _gespar_.”

“Almost all of those additions cater to human tastes, ensign. I don’t think we’ve had a Vulcan serve aboard the _Enterprise_ who came from Raal Province, and that variation is rarely prepared outside of it.”

“I see. I didn’t know it was a regional specialty. I had it often while I was there.”

“You’ve visited Vulcan?”

“Jul-- Doctor Gutierrez and I were invited to meet Ensign Somek’s family after we graduated from the Academy.”

“I see.”

“Captain Spock, would you mind trying it?” She pushed the bowl closer to him. “I’ve tasted so many samples that they’ve all run together, and I’m afraid that I can’t remember what it should taste like now.”

Spock sampled a spoonful. “It is remarkably accurate. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had added real _gespar_ powder to it.”

She grinned. “Thank you, Captain!” She stood and turned to put her completed card in the file.

“I’m sure it will be appreciated, ensign.”

She blushed.

 

 

“It is not ‘match-making.’ If it were, it would be accomplished by now. Instead, Somek insists on this highly illogical… business.”

“It’s called ‘romance,’ Spock,” said McCoy.

“I cannot think how your species has become so plentiful, Doctor.”

“Gossiping about the love lives of the ensigns, gentlemen?” asked Kirk as he joined Spock and McCoy at their usual table in the officers’ dining hall. “Is this what we’re reduced to in our old age?”

“Well, since Carol’s no longer on board, there’s nothing to gossip about with yours,” returned McCoy.

“You’re hilarious, Bones. Why don’t we ever gossip about your love life?”

“Because married people are boring. That just leaves the kids.”

Kirk narrowed his eyes. “In all seriousness, though, should I be concerned about Mr. Somek?”

“I’m keeping close tabs on him. In my professional opinion, he won’t be… having a problem for at least another two years, possibly three. On the other hand, according to Julia, this has been going on for years already, and Somek refuses to consider another bride while he still thinks he has a shot with Koskinen.”

“And does he? Have a shot?” asked Kirk.

“She has initiated the Mating Rite of the Ancient Order of Starship Engineers,” said McCoy.

“Come again?”

“She programmed a new food synthesizer card in his honor,” said Spock.

“Charming,” said Kirk. “Has that ever actually worked?”

McCoy held aloft his spoonful of liberally hot sauced _plomeek_ broth.

“Point taken,” said Kirk.

 

 

“You wanted to see me, Doctor?”

“Julia.” McCoy smiled. “I need someone to check my implant. I can’t do it myself.”

“Okay.” McCoy saw how her face shut down, a mask of impassivity.

He sat on the exam table. “Have you ever checked one of these before?”

“Yes.” She prepped a hypospray with a local anesthetic. “Which side?”

“Left.”

She administered the hypo. McCoy watched her closely. Her face was ashen and he was pretty sure that she was concentrating on breathing regularly. He had deliberately chosen a procedure that she knew would be painful if done incorrectly.

She checked the chronometer and touched the slight bump in the hairline behind his left ear. “Maybe a few more seconds,” she said. “Did you get this after… what happened when you lived in Atlanta?”

“Yeah. It treats anxiety and should prevent another depressive episode.”

She nodded. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

She picked up the probe and placed it over the implant’s port. She took a deep breath and pushed the button. The probe slid into place with a click and began transmitting data to the exam table’s tricorder. The probe emitted a beep, and she pressed the button again. When the probe beeped a second time, she removed it. She turned away from McCoy to set the instrument back down.

She was shaking.

“Julia?” McCoy stroked her arm.

She looked back toward him. She had tears in her eyes. “I could have hurt you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“That’s not the point. Look at me. I’m a wreck over performing a simple procedure, just because it _might_ have ended up hurting you! Even though I know the consequences of not performing the procedure. I tried to tell myself it’s necessary. If your implant fails, you could… I saw you when they carried you out. You were nothing but skin and bones, just conscious enough to moan whenever they jostled you, and so pale, even your lips were white, and your eyes looked like bruises! But I can’t bear the thought of causing you momentary discomfort even to prevent that!”

McCoy had his hands around both of her upper arms now.

“I’m not cut out for this, am I?” she asked. “I’d be okay in a hospital, where it would be against the rules for me to treat someone I’m close to, but not on a starship. What happens when there are fifteen injured crew and only three doctors? I can’t refuse the next patient just because I eat lunch with her on a regular basis.”

“Julia, I’m sorry. You’re an excellent physician. You have great rapport with patients. You’re efficient and level-headed, no matter how chaotic things get around here. Your diagnostic skills are far above what I would expect from a first-year resident. It isn’t a weakness to have difficulty treating loved ones. It’s perfectly normal, in fact.”

“I don’t want to be normal, Dr. McCoy. I want to be you.”

 

 

Kemmeer IV was an uninhabited class M planet with two continents. The southern one had been visited years earlier, but Starfleet wanted a survey of the northern one. There was some interference in the ionosphere that made both transporters and sensors unreliable, so they loaded two shuttlecraft with equipment, including relays which would be used to boost any scans taken from orbit. Spock took Sulu and a group of cadets along with Ensigns Koskinen and Somek.

They had already set up relays in three spots on the northern continent. They needed to set up one more relay, but that part of the land mass was covered with a thick jungle. They managed to find a clearing large enough to land the shuttlecraft and fanned out. They needed to set up a grouping of small sensors that would send information back to the main relay.

Koskinen was working with cadets Óscar Parente and Sarah Kahale directly west of the clearing. In addition to the general sensor, they were to leave a geological one as well. Geological sensors took the longest amount of time to set up because they had to drill twenty meters into the planet’s crust.

Somek and his assigned partner, Cadet Khamla Vilay, were off to the left of Koskinen’s team, starting from directly south and heading to the southwest. Commander Sulu had gone north with a male Caitian cadet named See’laa. They were to work their way northwest. The other two groups were working to the east and southeast of the clearing.

Spock remained near the shuttles, syncing the main relay with the sensors. The last one had just come online when Spock heard a distant scream. It came from the west and it sounded like that of a Human male. His communicator chirped. He flipped it open.

“Spock here.”

It was Koskinen. “Captain! These plants can move! One just broke Parente’s hand with a vine or something. We’re coming back to the shuttles.”

There was another scream from the southwest. Spock heard it get picked up by Koskinen’s communicator as well. “Somek!” It was Vilay. He heard Koskinen order the two cadets back to the shuttles.

“I’m heading to Somek’s location, Captain. I’m sending Kahale and Parente to the clearing.”

“Understood.” Spock switched the communicator to a general channel. “All teams return to the shuttles. Proceed quickly, but with caution. The vegetation may be capable of moving with hostile intent.” He was answered with a chorus of “Understoods.”

Parente and Kahale entered the clearing just as the communicator chirped again. “Spock here,” he said as he gestured the cadets toward one of the shuttlecraft.

“Somek’s been injured,” said Koskinen. “Vilay said it was a vine. It just whipped out and clipped him. He ducked, but not fast enough to avoid a pretty nasty gash on his forehead. He’s ambulatory. We’re heading to the clearing now.”

“Understood, Spock out.” Just then, Sulu and See’laa broke through the trees. Sulu’s right arm was bleeding, and he was holding it immobile with his left hand.

“It’s broken,” said Sulu before Spock could ask. “And they aren’t vines. They’re aerial roots. They belong to those pink and yellow flowers that are growing in the trees.”

Spock nodded. “Can you fly, Commander?” he asked.

“Yes, if I have to.”

“Very well, to the _Kepler_ , then.”

“Aye, Captain.”

There was another scream from the southwest.

“Cadet See’laa, you’re with me,” said Spock. “Mr. Kahale, get anyone else who comes back to the clearing on a shuttle. Tell them to be prepared to take off.”

“Aye, Captain.”

The communicator chirped. “Spock here.”

“Requesting assistance. Somek’s been injured again. He’s losing blood. He can’t walk.” The communicator flashed their coordinates.

“We’re on our way, ensign. Spock out.”

Spock and See’laa met Koskinen about halfway between the clearing and the location of the last sensor that Somek’s team had planted. She and Vilay were struggling to carry Somek between them. He was badly injured and bleeding, and Koskinen was holding a wound on his ribcage shut with her hand.

Spock and See’laa took Somek, and they proceeded as quickly as they could to the shuttlecraft.

“One of those vines came at me,” said Koskinen. “Somek saw it before I did. It got him as he tried to pull me out of the way.”

“They are roots,” said Spock, gesturing toward one of the flowers that Sulu had indicated. “Commander Sulu believes that they belong to those flowers. Watch for them.”

Koskinen and Vilay drew their weapons. Now that they knew what to look for, they were able to provide some cover.

They were about two meters into the clearing when a root shot out with enough force to penetrate the muscle of See’laa’s thigh. It tore a chunk of it off as it whipped back. The leg fountained blood. Vilay dropped and applied pressure to See’laa’s leg while Koskinen shot at another approaching root with her phaser. It fell to the ground and twitched. Spock rushed Somek to the Kepler, passing a cadet from one of the eastern teams as he ran to Cadet See’laa with a medkit.

On the Kepler, Spock tore open another medkit and got an emergency trauma wrap onto the larger of Somek’s wounds.

“Report, Mr. Kahale?”

“All present and accounted for, sir, except Koskinen, See’laa, Vilay, and Stipes,” she said.

Spock recognized Stipes as the name of the cadet who had run to See’laa’s assistance.

He tossed a cargo net over Somek.

“Proceed to the _Enterprise_ , Commander,” he said to Sulu as he headed back to the door. “As soon as you clear the interference, have Mr. Somek beamed directly aboard per emergency protocol.”

“Yes, sir,” said Sulu.

When Spock returned to where See’laa had fallen, Stipes had gotten a wrap onto his wound and stopped the bleeding. Koskinen was crouched nearby, still shooting at roots. Vilay was on the other side of See’laa doing the same.

Spock knelt and lifted See’laa into a fireman’s carry and they all headed to the remaining shuttlecraft. He saw Koskinen stumble and almost fall. Stipes caught her, while Vilay shot the root that had hit Koskinen’s ankle.

By the time Spock had See’laa stowed in the cargo area, the rest were seated and belted in. Spock took the helm and got them, to borrow a phrase, the hell out of there.

 

 

“Status report, Bones?”

“Everything’s under control, Jim. We can’t store Caitian blood, so Cadet See’laa will just have to rest up and make his own. Thanks to Vilay and Stipes, he didn’t lose too much. Voorhies broke a couple of ribs, and one of them punctured a lung. I got him patched up, but he’s on medical leave for the rest of the week.

“Ensign Somek has elected to use a Vulcan healing trance. It’s probably for the best, since there’s damage to both his heart and lungs. Surgery would be clumsy compared to what a Vulcan can do on his own. Spock assures me that it is ‘within his capabilities.’

“And the residents have taken care of the rest of the bumps and bruises. Sulu, Koskinen, and Parente are off duty for the next three days. They all suffered some pretty bad broken bones.”

“So her ankle was broken, then,” said Spock. “She didn’t notice until we attempted to disembark from the shuttle.”

“Adrenaline will do that,” said McCoy.

Kirk looked through the window behind McCoy. He could see Somek lying on a biobed there. Ensign Koskinen was seated in a chair next to him. McCoy turned toward the window as well.

“How long until he’s up?” asked Kirk.

“I estimated thirty hours at first, but he’s repairing the damage at a pretty good clip. I think twenty is more like it.”

“You should get some sleep, Bones.” Kirk clapped him on the shoulder.

“In a bit.”

Spock briefly touched McCoy’s arm just below the short sleeve of his medical tunic.

“You need sleep, Leonard. You were awake for thirteen hours prior to this emergency.”

He must look like hell if Spock was using his given name.

McCoy shook his head. “I want to be here when Somek comes to.”

[ _concern_ ]

“That will be some hours yet. I will be here, and so will Dr. Fedorin. At least lie down on one of the empty biobeds,” said Spock.

McCoy glanced at Somek’s vitals. Unchanged. He nodded. “Alright. I’ll be in the next ward. Shout if anything happens.”

“Of course, Doctor.”

Spock and Kirk watched McCoy go. They turned their attention back to the tableau in the Intensive Care Ward.

Ensign Koskinen had been there for fifteen hours now. Dr. Gutierrez had brought her a sandwich and something to drink, and Koskinen had caught a couple of little catnaps, placing her folded arms on the biobed near Somek’s hip and resting her head on them. Right now, though, she sat watching him again.

Spock took a chair and went in to sit beside her.

“Captain.” She stood.

He motioned her back down. “As you were, ensign. Remember your ankle.”

“Yes, sir.” She sat back down.

Spock placed his chair near hers and settled into it.

“It is my understanding that you wish to be a Captain someday,” said Spock “Your performance today leads me to believe that you do possess the necessary qualities of command.”

“Thank you, sir”

“I am merely establishing the facts before coming to the true matter that I wish to discuss with you, ensign. I understand that you have been facing a dilemma for some time now – to marry Mr. Somek or not.”

She blushed. “I didn’t know you were aware of that, sir.”

“I am his mentor. Among Vulcans that is a serious responsibility. I am concerned for his well-being.”

“And my indecision negatively impacts that.”

Spock did not deny it. “You have no doubt heard from many sources that marriage and command are mutually exclusive. That a spouse will place too many demands, and that jealousies and conflicting egos will eventually destroy the relationship.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I find that such sentiments are most popular among those who have not married.”

She looked at him, a bit taken aback.

“Why the surprise, ensign? I am a Captain. I have commanded a starship, and I am married. What’s more I think that we both know that the likelihood of such conflicts between you and Somek are low.”

She looked back at Somek. “That’s true, sir.”

“What is truly difficult is this.” He gestured toward Somek, lying deathly still on the biobed. “To see him hurt, possibly because of actions meant to keep you from harm, possibly even because of actions taken on your orders. To sit this vigil, sometimes to have no choice but to remain on the bridge while you wonder what is happening in sickbay.”

Koskinen looked down at her lap. Spock could see her bite her lip and blink back tears.

“I have sat in your place, ensign. I have seen my husband’s body broken and shattered with pain because he chose to place himself between me and violence. Yours is an unenviable position.”

She raised her eyes to Spock’s.

“You may even fear that your desire to avoid this scenario will cloud your judgment.”

She nodded. “My great uncle was a starship captain. He told me it takes _sisu_ to hold that rank. It’s an impossible concept to explain, but a large part of it is courage. I don’t like to think I might be cowardly, so I told myself that it was a problem of logistics – of whether I could make enough time and space in my life for Somek. The real issue was that I didn’t know if I had enough courage for both a starship and a husband.”

“It is not cowardice to know your limitations,” said Spock.

“But spending years stringing someone along rather than confronting your fears is.”

“You now have a better understanding of your capabilities, and what you have feared is no longer unknown to you.”

“You’re right. I won’t allow this situation to continue. I give you my word,” said Koskinen.

Spock stood and took his chair. “Then I will leave you to your meditations, ensign. Good night.”

“Good night, Captain.”

Back in the main part of sickbay, Kirk spoke to Spock.

“So how do you do it? How do you command this ship, knowing that your decisions could endanger Bones?”

“I learned long ago that there is no greater danger to Dr. McCoy than Dr. McCoy.”

Kirk huffed. “True. But then how do you live with that?”

“I remind myself that he is an autonomous being who, despite appearances to the contrary, lacks neither wisdom nor rationality. Nor empathy – he does understand that it would cause me pain to see him suffer, although he doesn’t understand it as well as I would like. However, as he would no doubt put it, I haven’t much room to talk.”

“No, you don’t,” said Kirk.

“Indeed. It troubles me that I have put him in that position. I could not bear to look at him and see him watch me die, Jim. And it’s a memory that he has mercifully kept from me ever since.”

 

 

The monitors above Somek’s biobed began to register the changes heralding his return to consciousness about three hours later. Spock woke McCoy and they both ran into the ward just as Somek cracked open an eyelid and whispered, “Strike me.”

Koskinen complied without hesitation, an open-hand strike that had years of training and most of her weight behind it.

“Again.” So she did it again. She climbed onto the bed and landed a third blow. McCoy stepped forward to take over, but Spock placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.

McCoy furrowed his brow in Spock’s direction, but Spock shook his head and arched an eyebrow.

Koskinen continued to hit Somek until he said, “Enough! Thank you. I am well.”

Then she kissed him, full on the mouth, and with a bit of tongue. He returned the kiss enthusiastically until he became aware that they were not alone.

“Anniki!” exclaimed Somek, scandalized to see McCoy and Spock observing this spectacle.

“Listen, mister,” she said, dragging his attention back to her face. “I’m not Dr. McCoy. I can’t maintain an absolute zero public displays of affection policy, at least not when you put me through this kind of aggravation. If you’re going to be my husband, you’ll just have to learn to put up with it, or else not get hurt in the first place.” She sat back and crossed her arms.

“You… accept… my proposal?”

“Sure looks that way,” she said, still glaring.

“You honor me. Thank you.”

She grinned, then realized she should probably get off the bed. She went to put her foot down and realized just how sore her ankle was. “Oh, damn this thing! I keep forgetting I broke it.”

McCoy stepped forward and helped her onto the next biobed. He gave her a hypo of painkillers. “I’m pretty sure this is the only place you’ll get any rest. So sleep now. The crisis is over.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“You too, Mr. Somek. I expect silence out of this ward for at least the next eight hours.”

He and Spock left.

“And just what the hell was that?” asked McCoy.

“Romance, Doctor,” said Spock.

 

 

“My resignation.” Julia placed a PADD on McCoy’s desk and slid it toward him.

“I think you’re a little premature with this.” McCoy pushed the PADD back.

“My year on the _Enterprise_ is almost up. I have applied to some hospitals back on Earth. I have to make a choice soon as to where I’m going to finish my residency, but one thing’s for sure, I can’t do it in Starfleet.” Julia pushed the PADD toward McCoy again.

“I want you to consider this assignment.” McCoy pushed another PADD toward her. She took it and read the screen.

“The USS _Salk_?”

“It’s a hospital ship. First of its kind. They have refitted an _Excelsior_ -class ship to be a mobile hospital, basically. Much of the operational systems are automated. It doesn’t take a large crew to run it. Most of the crew will be medical personnel. It has a minimum complement of ten doctors, but they will be running with around fifteen most of the time.”

“I...”

“It will be just like working in a small hospital planetside. I asked, and treating close friends and relatives is strictly discouraged outside of emergency situations. They are very impressed with your talents. They’ve offered you a berth.”

“This is fantastic! Do you really think I could do this? I mean, you are a little biased.”

“I’m a lot biased. Do you want a second opinion?”

“No, not really.” She looked at the PADD again. “This is… Thank you. I’ll go answer them right away. You can just erase that one, okay?” She gestured at the PADD with her resignation letter.

“Consider it gone.”

 

 

The forward observation lounge was crammed full of personnel for Sulu’s farewell party.

“’Captain Sulu.’ It brings a little tear to the eye, doesn’t it, Jim?” said McCoy

“It does indeed, Bones. The _Enterprise_ won’t be the same without you, Sulu, but I suppose that our loss is the _Excelsior’s_ gain.”

“Thank you, Captain. I almost feel guilty for making off with your new helmsman.”

“You should feel guilty. Ensign Koskinen is an excellent pilot. And I hear that you have my old yeoman, as well.”

“Yes, Janice Rand. Apparently, she went for officer’s training a few years ago. She’ll be my head of Communications.”

“Good. That means you won’t be running off with Uhura,” said Kirk.

“Did I hear my name?” Uhura came breezing by with a glass of champagne.

“Captain Kirk was just accusing me of having designs on you,” said Sulu. “He thinks I might try to tempt you to the _Excelsior_.”

“Well then, let’s make his worst nightmares come true, shall we? You can tempt me as far as the dance floor right now.” She and Sulu set their glasses on a nearby table and joined the other dancers.

Kirk and McCoy watched them waltz for a bit.

“She sure can dance,” said McCoy.

“Sulu’s no slouch either. I’m glad he got a command. It should have happened years ago.”

“I think he was pretty happy where he was, at least until he got a gander at the _Excelsior_. Kind of reminded me of you, telling me how much you wanted the _Enterprise_.”

“Makes you believe in love at first sight, doesn’t it?” said Kirk.

Kirk sipped his champagne. “That reminds me. What about Mr. Somek? I assume he’ll be following Koskinen when she transfers.”

“He’s staying here until the formal betrothal in a couple of months. Then he’ll transfer. I think Spock’s going to miss him. It’s the first time he’s had a chance to interact with someone who shares both sides of his heritage.”

“You know, Spock had a conversation with Koskinen that night in the sickbay, after you went to get some sleep.”

“Oh?”

“He said that the belief that command and marriage don’t go together is most popular among those who aren’t married. Do you think that I never found someone to share my life with because I told myself it wasn’t possible?”

“No” said McCoy, snorting a little. “Look, no one believes in the impossible harder than you, Jim. If all it took was determination and optimism, you’d’ve figured out a way.”

“You and Spock figured it out.”

McCoy thought about that for a moment. “You told me once that it was mighty convenient that we happened to serve together.”

Kirk made a wry face. “I know you didn’t choose Spock just because he was around.”

“No, I didn’t, but I’ll admit it was a factor,” said McCoy. “Or, I should say, the fact that I was pretty sure we could fit ourselves around each other’s careers was a factor. I never told you this, but the reason Nancy broke up with me was because she couldn’t take me being wrapped up in my work all the time. If Spock only gets fifteen minutes to eat breakfast with me for three weeks running, he’s okay with that. And I’m okay when he’s the one who’s too busy for awhile. We know that eventually, we’ll find a way to get some time together and that we’ll make the most of it.

“In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve seen you fall in love, really fall in love, about half a dozen times. And every time, it was with women who are just like you – beautiful, ambitious, passionate people who love what they do. Those women were no more likely to give up their lives to Starfleet than you were going to be content in a lab or on a marine research vessel or on a space station or... rusticating in Idaho. What did Antonia do anyway?”

“She’s a large animal vet.”

“There you go,” said McCoy. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were deliberately sabotaging yourself.”

Kirk watched the bubbles rise to the top of his champagne for a minute until McCoy nudged him with his elbow.

“Come on, Jim. It’s a party. Plenty of time to be maudlin later.”

Kirk smiled. “You’re right, Bones. I can cry in your liquor supply any night. Tonight, I’m going to get a dance with Uhura even if it kills me.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Spock and Somek stood in a quiet corner, observing the festivities. McCoy and Julia swirled by among the dancers, followed by Kirk and Koskinen.

Somek tilted his head curiously. “I thought that this was part of some mating ritual.”

“It can be,” answered Spock. “It is most often used as a form of shared activity meant to raise endorphins, so it has some similarities to sexual contact, but it is considered an appropriate pursuit for people at all levels of intimacy, from strangers to blood relatives.”

“Interesting.”

The song ended, and Koskinen accepted a dance from Captain Sulu, while Kirk took Uhura’s hand just as the next song began. McCoy danced with one of the nurses from sickbay, and Julia begged off, waving her hand in front of her face to indicate that she was over-warm and needed a break.

“My father suggested that I acquire this skill. I am beginning to suspect that he was right to do so,” said Somek.

Spock simply watched the dancers. He had no desire to join them, but he did enjoy seeing McCoy dance. He was… engaging, thought Spock.

Somek interrupted this reverie. “I have meditated on your words to Ensign Koskinen.” There was no logic in either of them pretending that Spock was not perfectly aware that Somek could hear him while in his healing trance.

“I meant to help her clarify her fears. She is a brave woman, but she didn’t understand the nature of her enemy,” said Spock.

Somek nodded. The ways in which fear can be deceitful and insidious were lessons impressed upon Vulcans from the time they were very young.

“It had not occurred to me, prior to that conversation, that she feared her concern for my well-being could come into conflict with her responsibilities to those under her command.”

“It is a very human reaction. Vulcan emotions may be more powerful, but human emotions are more complex. You would be wise to remember that. Not all of your emotions will emanate from your Vulcan side. Some will be Human, and Human emotions can turn inward in ways that are most destructive.”

Somek bowed slightly to indicate that he heard Spock’s words and would meditate on them.

The next song ended, bringing Sulu and Koskinen from the dance floor.

“Thank you so much for the dance, ensign.” Sulu gave her a short bow.

“You’re very welcome, Captain,” she replied, nodding.

Sulu turned to Spock. “I was hoping to get the chance to say good-bye to you tonight.”

“And I wished to convey my congratulations, Captain.”

“It’s been a great honor to serve with you.”

“And I with you.” Spock raised his hand and formed the Vulcan salute. “Live long and prosper, Hikaru Sulu.”

Sulu returned the gesture, his eyes glittering in the lights from the dance floor. “Peace and long life, Spock.”

 

***

 

“You know, I would have happily taught you to waltz,” said McCoy. Sometime in the middle of this reminiscence, McCoy had slipped a hand under Spock’s robe where it parted on the side, and worked that hand into the opening in the front of the under-tunic. He was now tracing circles through the hair on Spock’s stomach.

“You offered on a few occasions,” said Spock. “Vulcans don’t dance.”

“Vulcan children do,” McCoy reminded him, moving his hand a bit higher.

“And at the time it was noted that I was significantly poor at that skill.”

“I have a hard time imagining that there was ever anything you weren’t good at, Spock.” McCoy was now circling Spock’s left nipple.

“What are you doing?” asked Spock. [ _five seconds of this pleasure, he is reduced to inanities_ ]

“Performing a physical examination. Testing your nipple response.” He gave Spock’s nipple a little pinch. Spock gasped and pressed himself closer to McCoy’s hand. “Oh, very good. Nicely sensitive.”

He bowed his head and pressed kisses to the top of Spock’s spine, as low as the slight gap in Spock’s robe would allow. [ _warm breath, soft kisses, slight prick and scrape of stubble_ ] They both shivered at the sensation.

“All of your responses seem healthy so far, Spock, but you know I hate not being thorough.” McCoy worked Spock’s clothing open some more, and stroked Spock’s right nipple, allowing it to catch slightly on the pads of his fingers. [ _four bright ripples of pleasure, four more_ ]

Spock made a sound somewhere between a moan and a sigh. He tipped his head back onto McCoy’s shoulder. [ _hoping please_ ] McCoy hated to disappoint, so he licked a fine line up the curve of Spock’s ear before tenderly kissing and sucking the tip. As expected, this elicited a low growl from Spock.

[ _the sound buzzes and flows thick like honey through his body and settles in his cock_ ] It was a response and a sensation that had decades of familiarity behind it, not that it was any less delightful for that. Spock stood and held out his hand. McCoy allowed Spock to pull him to his feet.

Spock took McCoy’s shoulders and pulled him closer. He kissed him. [ _gently softly delicately, then warmer, pressing, tongues slipping tasting, harder, the edge of teeth, breathless_ ] Spock pulled back, searching McCoy’s face for signs of distress.

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” said McCoy. “I took tri-ox compound just before lunch. It should last another couple of hours, at least.”

“You’re the doctor,” said Spock, pulling McCoy close again, wrapping his arms around him.

“Damn straight.” McCoy threaded his fingers into Spock’s hair and proceeded to kiss him some more.

[ _sweet, warm, bed_ ]

Spock took McCoy’s hand and led him to their bedroom.

McCoy sat on the chair to remove his shoes and socks. He watched Spock working the few fasteners on his robe that McCoy had not managed to open already.

McCoy smiled. “You’re beautiful when you’re disheveled, Spock.” [ _robe askew, hair a mess, lips swollen from kisses_ ]

“You will need to remove more than your footwear, Leonard.”

McCoy laughed. “You’ve got a point.” He stood, removed the rest of his clothing, and joined Spock in the bed. He snuggled up close. [ _happy_ ]

Spock rolled over on his side and propped his head on his hand. He pressed himself against McCoy’s side and softly stroked his skin. [ _face and neck, clavicle and ribs, belly and hips, inner thigh_ ]

Always whipcord thin, McCoy was now positively gaunt, his skin pale and translucent. These changes were recent. They had only become so pronounced in the last few years, and they did nothing to mitigate Spock’s impression of his husband as fragile – no matter how illogical (or logical) that may be.

[ _vellum-soft skin, blue river veins, protective, tender, gentle_ ]

McCoy wanted to be frustrated by Spock’s insistence that he needed to be handled with kid gloves, but he knew that Spock’s anxiety was not exactly unfounded. And, he had to admit, all of the petting felt rather pleasant. He fed the sensation back to Spock, adding a touch of reassurance and amused tolerance along with it.

[ _a soft glide, palm against his skin, fingers spread wide, up and down, indulgent_ ]

McCoy watched Spock’s face, observed the evidence of the years that resided there. It was a little heavier, a bit jowly. His mouth was bracketed with deep furrows. There were lines by his eyes. Spock’s idea of a grin was a twitch of his lips and a crinkling of his eyes, but he had smiled enough in his life for those crinkles to have etched themselves permanently into his skin. McCoy laid his hand on that face, pulled it down to his, and kissed him.

[ _same mouth, same lips, one hundred years, the kisses are still a revelation_ ]

“Ninety-eight years,” said Spock.

“Hmm?”

“We’ve been kissing for ninety-eight years. Ninety-five, if you leave out the times we’ve been separat--”

McCoy kissed Spock again, cutting him off mid-calculation, and stroked his nipple in a bid to occupy just a little more of that Vulcan mind.

[ _the bright orange sky, the orderly progression, concept, discipline, process, the seamless movement like flight like soaring, time and again these sweet kisses have pulled him down into cool darkness, this loving heart into chaos, this warm mortal body into laughter and salt-water tears, and he has exulted in the wonder of this connection for one hundred years_ ]

Spock continued to stroke McCoy’s body, pausing to linger at the more sensitive spots, pulling the pleasure into his mind, wrapping it in his own and returning it to McCoy.

McCoy wished this could go on and on until the sky outside their window filled with stars, but it couldn’t. His energy needed to be conserved.

He reached down and pressed his hand to Spock’s erection, pressed the lowest edge of his palm against the head, brushed the sac with his fingertips. He could feel his own cock move in response as the sensation rebounded between their minds. Spock returned the gesture, gathering McCoy’s soft, blood-heavy genitals into his own large hand.

[ _they tumble through the sky as it dulls to sienna, as the edge dissolves into pink and gold_ ]

McCoy wrapped his fingers around Spock’s shaft, [ _the first stars prick the soft fabric of the sky above_ ] and stroked.

[ _they fall, spinning spiraling plummeting through the darkening sky, stars wink on around them in extravagant profusion as they crash at last into a warm salt sea_ ]

For Spock, their orgasm was followed by a wave of sadness, too sudden for him to suppress. McCoy accepted it, another ripple.

[ _floating in warm and chaos and recognition and sorrow and grace and tenderness and compassion and time and sharing and love and love_ ]

They lay there, touching, letting the emotions swirl and eddy around them until the shadows in the courtyard beyond their door were long and the mess on McCoy’s belly was thick and sticky.

“I need a nap before dinner,” said McCoy, stretching a little.

“Very well.” Spock stood and walked to their bathroom. He came back with a dampened cloth and cleaned McCoy’s stomach. It tickled. McCoy laughed, but it turned into a dry coughing spell.

Spock sat with McCoy until he calmed. “Has the tri-ox worn off? Do you require another dose?”

McCoy nodded, not wanting to speak for fear of setting himself off again.

Spock went to the bank of cabinets that made up one wall of their bedroom. He opened the dark wood door of the cabinet that housed McCoy’s medical kit. Everything was neat and labeled – the “logical man of science” part of McCoy in action. Spock took the hypospray and fitted the little canister of tri-ox compound to it.

He sat on the bed again and administered the hypospray. He watched as McCoy’s breathing grew easier.

“Are you well?” he asked.

McCoy smiled. “I’m fine, Spock. Thanks. I’m just going to take that nap now. Wake me for dinner, okay?”

 


	7. Transition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of several eras.

When Spock came into the garden after lunch, McCoy was standing in the northwest corner, picking dead leaves off a flower there. It was a bushy plant with pale green leaves and large blossoms, somewhat like a peony. The flowers were soft, periwinkle blue, shading toward mauve in the center. On Kersella, they had called it _sella pesk_ – sun down flower. It was one of the rarer flowers in the garden.

McCoy spotted Spock and tossed the handful of leaves he had gathered into the composter before he met him at the other end of the garden. Spock took McCoy’s hand and nudged at his mind. McCoy opened for him. He could feel Spock checking him over, looking for signs of pain or difficulty.

[ _tenderness solicitude_ ]

“Do you require anything before we start?” asked Spock.

“You tell me,” grumped McCoy.

“You are irascible and illogical, so I’d say that you are functioning as per usual.”

“Well, now that we’ve got that cleared up, shall we?” McCoy sat down on the bench. Spock sat as well, and pulled McCoy into his arms.

Once they were settled, Spock said, “We were discussing the years of the last mission.”

“Those last few years, we were the only _Constitution_ -class ship still flying,” said McCoy. “The cadets acted like they were in a museum. It made me feel like a relic.”

[ _amusing_ ]

“Yeah, I had a lot to learn,” said McCoy.

 

***

 

Spock was sitting in the window alcove in their quarters, playing his lyre, when McCoy came back from his visit with Christine Chapel. Spock was wearing Vulcan attire – a loose, black, thigh-length tunic with gold banding and soft black trousers. He watched as McCoy unfastened his uniform jacket and took it off, draping it across a chair. He then sat on the chair and pulled off his boots as well before joining Spock. He leaned against the wall of the alcove, feet up on the bench seat, hands clasped around his knees, looking at the stars and listening to the music for a long time before he spoke.

“My mom played. Did I ever tell you?” asked McCoy, still gazing through the window.

“I’ve seen glimpses in your mind. She played the guitar?”

“Yeah. Mandolin too. And she could sing. She loved the Twentieth Century singer-songwriters – Leonard Cohen, Tracy Chapman. Her favorite was Townes Van Zandt. She sang folk songs, too. She would sing me to sleep with ‘Wildwood Flower.’

“She was so beautiful. Long black hair nearly to her knees, and big warm eyes. I got my Dad’s looks.” McCoy chuckled. “Well, my dad said I did get her smile.”

Spock kept playing softly, waiting to hear what else McCoy was going to say.

McCoy looked at him. “You smile when you play. The first time I saw you smile was also the first time you played for me. You and Uhura used to do that thing, in the recreation room, where you’d play while she’d make up verses about the people there. I’d been on board for about two weeks when she got around to me. I was laughing along with everyone, and when I looked at you, you were smiling. Nobody had played for me since my mom died. That’s when I decided I was going to like you.”

“I was unaware that you had ever arrived at that conclusion.”

McCoy shook his head. He looked at his feet and listened to the music for a little longer.

“I found out why Christine was so bound and determined to see me today. Turns out she wasn’t just angling for a social call.”

Spock raised an eyebrow to indicate his curiosity. He knew that Chapel and McCoy often met when the _Enterprise_ was in Sol system. The purpose of these meetings was, as McCoy put it, to “catch up” and “talk shop.” However, Dr. Chapel’s invitation had been particularly insistent today.

“It seems my excellent health raised a red flag with Starfleet Medical. It’s too good for a man my age. Some sharp-eyed intern caught it and looked into it. He found what appeared to be evidence of genetic enhancement, and sent my case up the chain of command.

“Anyway, long story short, I have been genetically enhanced, though inadvertently. In fact, there were people at Starfleet Medical who’ve been expecting that someone’d figure it out, sooner or later. Christine’s security clearance is pretty high and she was already asking questions about why her former C.O. was being investigated, so she got the dubious honor of filling me in. I’m not to tell anyone else but you.”

Spock stopped playing.

“I contracted a virus twenty years ago, when we were on Miri’s planet,” McCoy went on. “Not the one that gave everyone blue lesions and a bad case of death, but another one that we didn’t know about. Apparently, there were a lot of viruses created by the scientists there that were still floating around. This other virus alters a certain gene – a gene that most people don’t have, but I do. Two of the ‘onlies’ are also affected. That’s how Starfleet knows about it.”

“What is the effect of the modification?” asked Spock.

“Mainly, it causes the affected person to age more slowly, about half-speed actually,” said McCoy.

“Since the age of thirty-nine, you have been aging at half the rate of a typical human?”

“Yeah, more or less. The natural life-span of a human is about ninety years. There are interventions that can prolong life by another decade, maybe two, but they don’t really figure into this. So, barring catastrophe, I’m going to live about forty years longer than expected.”

Forty years.

Spock set the lute down.

McCoy’s remaining lifespan had just doubled.

Joy spiked through Spock’s brain, hot and dazzlingly bright. One pure, fierce, Vulcan emotion out of the incomprehensible tangle of human ones.

A wish he had not thought to make, granted by a universe that doesn’t grant wishes.

“And I’ll probably stay in better-than-average health too. That seems to be another effect,” McCoy went on.

Spock leaned forward until he was on his hands and knees on the little window seat and began to move toward McCoy.

“But it’s hard to say for sure. I mean there’s no precedent for this,” said McCoy.

McCoy dropped one foot to the floor to accommodate Spock’s approach, and Spock crawled up McCoy’s body.

“I’ll be flying blind.”

Spock stopped when their faces were just a few inches apart.

“Well?” said McCoy.

“I’m happy.” Spock hesitated to share this emotion with McCoy while it was still so raw, but he longed for it as well.

“I see,” said McCoy. “So kiss me, Spock. I’ll be fine.”

Spock kissed him, lips parted, tongue seeking. [ _the air is slammed from his lungs, colors, purple and green swirling like aurorae, dancing like light_ _on waves_ ]

McCoy broke the kiss long enough to get his breath back, then slid his hands along Spock’s jaw until the heels of his palms rested at the hinge and his fingers were touching the occipital bone. He pulled Spock back for more. [ _pleasure, fervor, exultation rising to the sky like song, and heat like a brand, like iron prepared to be wrought, then the falling swoop, the cool water, McCoy the tempering influence for a change_ ]

Spock’s hand was braced on the bench next to McCoy’s hip and he slipped his other hand under McCoy’s shirts, to rest on his rib cage. [ _heartbeats, his heart, 1,680,000,000 more heartbeats_ _and 1,680,000,000 more_ ]

“Only you would calculate every damn one of them,” said McCoy.

Spock sat back on his heels. “Forty years is not an insignificant amount of time in this context.”

“No, it ain’t. I’m glad to see you’re up for it.”

“Indeed, Doctor.”

McCoy took Spock’s hand and brought it toward him. He wrapped his other hand around Spock’s wrist, fingers against the delicate skin. [ _tenderness and warmth, pink-gold softness like a sunset, gratitude and wonder, and under_ _neath_ _desire_ _uncurling_ _and seeking light_ ]

McCoy brought Spock’s wrist to his mouth and placed a kiss there. He stood and removed the rest of his uniform, down to the black, Starfleet-issue underpants. He held out his hand in invitation, and Spock took it, allowing McCoy to pull him to his feet. [ _appeal and acceptance, want and give_ ]

McCoy began working the fasteners on Spock’s tunic. He was, by now, familiar with them, and he was quite efficient at this task when he wasn’t being impatient. Spock studied the curve that formed the juncture of McCoy’s neck and shoulder. He traced a line from McCoy’s ear to the ball of his shoulder. Then he pressed kisses back up that line, feeling McCoy shiver under his touch.

“Sp-o-o-ck.” A breathy, stuttered whisper. [ _icy sparks and warm salt_ ] “Stop it, or I’ll never get these damn things undone.” [ _absurd_ ]

“I cannot comply at this time,” said Spock, choosing instead to nip and suck at McCoy’s earlobe. [ _oh! wet and right and electric_ ]

“Spock.” His name became a low growl.

Spock desisted in favor of smiling into McCoy’s hair, and letting him finish the task of removing the tunic. McCoy tossed the garment onto the bench behind Spock and, cupping Spock’s skull in his hands as before, he kissed him – slow and deep, mouth open, tongue sliding, teeth pressing into his lip. Spock caught McCoy’s mood [ _slow and thorough_ ] and found it quite agreeable.

McCoy pulled Spock’s undershirt out from under the waistband of his pants, freeing it in a series of small tugs. Then his hands, precise and sensitive, skimmed up Spock’s stomach to his nipples. [ _coarse hair ruffled against the grain, areolae soft and smooth, the rougher peak, pleasure humming_ _like a_ _plucked string, resonating through flesh and bone_ ]

Spock took the hem of his shirt from McCoy and drew it over his head. It joined the tunic behind him. He pulled McCoy closer, palms resting against McCoy’s shoulder blades, fingers splayed between the bones of his spine. [ _familiarity and comfort, shelter and center_ ] His hands slid down over skin and muscle to soft, clinging fabric. Spock took McCoy’s bottom in both hands, pulling him tight against himself, wanting sensation. [ _penises soft but thick, growing heavier, their hearts pushing blood into their cocks, Spock is counting heartbeats again, how many of McCoy’s remaining heartbeats will be dedicated to this?_ _h_ _ow could McCoy think numbers are cold?_ ]

Spock backed McCoy slowly toward the bed, still kissing, still stroking. Neither could seem to keep their hands still. [ _the assurance of these knowing touches,_ _the history and the intimacy_ ] Spock lifted McCoy and sat him bodily on the bed with his back against the wall. He insisted on arranging a pillow behind McCoy, making sure that he would be comfortable in this position.

“I’m sure my joints appreciate your attentiveness.”

“You are my husband… and my lover. I owe you a certain degree of care,” said Spock, toeing off his boots and removing the rest of his clothing.

McCoy, as always, enjoyed the show. “Far be it from me to keep you from taking care of me all you want,” he said, lifting his hips to allow Spock to pull his shorts off.

Spock heard the invitation, but tonight he wanted something else. He stood by the bed, cupping McCoy’s jaw in one hand, and made a request. Spock never spoke his desires aloud, but he was adept at showing them.

McCoy smiled and scooted down the wall until he was nearly reclining against it. “C’mere, then,” he said, taking hold of Spock’s hand and drawing him closer. He wrapped one arm around Spock’s hips, steadying him as he climbed onto the bed and straddled McCoy’s body, Spock’s knees on either side of McCoy’s waist. Spock braced his hand on the wall above McCoy’s head and looked down. McCoy gripped Spock’s ass with one hand while he took Spock’s penis in the other and stroked it softly before guiding it to his mouth and taking it in. [ _soft,_ _wet,_ _encompassing,_ _steady,_ _warm_ ]

Spock didn’t move, merely held himself in this position while McCoy ministered to his cock in whatever way he saw fit – first by gently holding it in his mouth, then by licking it from the base to the tip. He could feel McCoy’s concentration as he explored every aspect and nuance of this one organ. The texture [ _the shaft like smooth stone like sea glass, the foreskin like a petal, the glans more polished and more giving when pressed by his tongue_ ], color [ _warm green, like_ _j_ _ade_ ], scent [ _musk and skin_ ] were all examined by McCoy as he licked and stroked and kissed and sucked – clearly with the goal of arousing rather than bringing Spock to climax. Indeed, it appeared that this catalog of the minutiae of his penis was intended to act as a restraining influence. Still, McCoy didn’t stop until he tasted the tiny drop of bitter metal against his tongue.

McCoy took both his mouth and his hands away from Spock’s penis and looked up at him. [ _lips parted, pupils blown_ ] Spock reached into the bedside drawer and found the bottle of lube. He put some on McCoy’s fingers and set the bottle back on the table. McCoy held his gaze as he reached behind Spock and gently slipped his lubed fingers inside. The sensation drew a low, keening cry from Spock.

McCoy soothed him, stroking his thigh. He took the lube again and slicked his own penis. He sat up, folding his legs until he was sitting cross legged. He put his dry hand on Spock’s hip and guided him down. [ _slip and glide and pierced and pulse_ ]

McCoy applied kisses to Spock’s neck while Spock shifted his legs until he could wrap them around McCoy, knocking the pillow he had placed there earlier to the floor. McCoy removed the excess lubricant from his hand through the simple expedient of smearing it on Spock’s penis. Relatively unsullied now, McCoy embraced Spock, one hand over Spock’s heart and the other pressed to the small of his back. [ _held, essential, centered, sanctuary_ ]

Spock cradled McCoy’s head in his large hands, kissed him, hummed his pleasure against McCoy’s mouth, brushed an eyelid with his lips, let his thoughts wash over them. [ _this_ _love_ _– as infinite as sea and sky, as intimate as your body where it enters mine, as soft as the breath of your life against my skin, as strong as the limbs I wrap you in to keep you close, and as precious as the beating of your heart –_ _I give to you joyfully, take from you gratefully, share with you freely, with body and mind_ ]

Spock rolled his hips. This was not a position that allowed for vigorous movement, but that wouldn’t be necessary. Both of them were close, holding off orgasm rather than striving for it at this point. Spock set a slow and steady rhythm. [ _movement becomes sound, deep and measured,_ _then sweetly melodic,_ _a song a lay a lullaby, a_ _duet_ ]

They both uttered cries now – nearly helpless vocalizations of pleasure and want. [ _waves swell, a crescendo building to climax and coda,_ _pleasure so expansive the entire universe must vibrate in sympathy_ ]

McCoy grasped Spock’s penis and stroked, silently counting [ _one two three_ ] until [ _he drew their orgasm up and into light_ ] he felt thick warm liquid spill over his hand/pulse from his own body and into Spock’s. They collapsed into each other, foreheads buried against necks, lungs and hearts slowly regaining their normal cadences.

Without looking, Spock touched McCoy’s left hand where it had fallen to Spock’s thigh. He tapped the ring there with one long finger, reminding McCoy of the words of the _p_ _on_ _f_ _arr_ ceremony, the words engraved into the band. “...for all tomorrows,” he murmured against McCoy’s clavicle.

“All 29,220 of them?” asked McCoy.

“Every damn one.”

 

***

 

“You were unsure of how I would react,” said Spock.

“I was pretty sure you’d be happy, but it wasn’t what you signed up for,” said McCoy.

[ _no one else ever wanted more than one year of my life let alone one hundred_ ]

“When you first proposed that I should accept you as my lover, I meditated on it all night. Your logic was so weak that I couldn’t imagine that even you believed in it.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I came to the realization that you felt you had to offer more than you sought,” said Spock. “That was never true. In the beginning, you explicitly offered me the companionship of a man whose integrity, kindness, and intelligence I had come to value profoundly. I accepted you on those terms, and you immediately gave me affection, support, patience, and understanding as well. On our wedding night you offered me the care of your... heart.”

“It seemed to me that you might get tired of taking care of me and my heart all the time,” said McCoy.

“I was touched that you would place such faith in my ability to care for you. It has always given me great pleasure to know that I enhance your well-being.”

[ _you were always enough_ ]

“You know it’s nothing you did. You never gave me cause to think you didn’t love me, at least, not after V’ger,” said McCoy.

[ _a person can just be gone, on a sunny day, on a warm night_

_it can happen suddenly – nothing taken but their presence, it can happen slowly – nothing left but their presence and then that too is taken_

_they can leave you to deal with the things left behind – hundreds thousands of objects to sort and make decisions about, they can leave you with a thousand holes – the clear signs of half your life stripped away,_ _they can leave you with nothing_

_they go because you are not what they thought, they go because they are not what they thought, they go because the universe doesn’t care, they go for no reason at all_

_you have no power to stop it, you have nothing with which to hold them_ ]

“Over time, I got that feeling less and less,” said McCoy, “but sometimes, something would trigger it – like realizing that you were stuck with me for another forty years.”

“You knew I was bonded to you,” said Spock.

“That was even worse. The idea that you might still need me biologically when you’d come to despise me in other ways… It’s like something out of those godawful love poems you used to research.”

“There was never any danger of that.”

“Well, I know that now, Spock. Hell, I knew it then. Like I said, it was nothing you did or didn’t do. It’s just the way I am.”

“I know,” said Spock, tightening his arms around McCoy. “I may still be astonished at the myriad forms that this fear has taken in your mind, but I am no longer surprised nor dismayed at the fear itself.”

“I guess I was right to entrust the care of my heart to you after all,” said McCoy.

“Indeed, Doctor.”

McCoy could feel the slight quaking of Spock’s laughter against his back. He shook his head.

“Okay, on with the show,” said McCoy. “What happened on Mephis? Jim suddenly got interested in Vulcan telepathy.”

“There were aspects of Vulcan society that I had never explained to him.”

 

***

 

Mephis was a planet in the Beta Tellin system. The wealthiest societies on Mephis were just entering the post-industrial stage of development. As such, they had started to explore their immediate vicinity in space and they were utilizing satellites for surveillance and communications. This meant that the _Enterprise_ had to be a bit more cautious about not getting noticed, and that the away team gathering intelligence on Mephis had to be especially careful not to be caught with Federation technology. There was always a chance that a phaser or communicator could be reverse-engineered if it found its way to the right Mephisian.

That meant that Uhura and Chekov were incommunicado for the duration of their mission, and that they were dependent on subcutaneous emergency transponders to let the _Enterprise_ know their location. Kirk was not happy when Uhura’s transponder stopped transmitting six hours into their seventy-two-hour mission.

“Spock and I will beam down and locate Chekov. Hopefully, Uhura is with him. I don’t want to take any more personnel than I need to, Bones, but I want you suited up in case we need to beam you down too.”

As it turned out, Mephisian males wore kilts – plain ones with pockets, but kilts all the same. The cold season was just beginning, so woolly socks and sweaters were the order of the day. Kirk finished his outfit off with his hiking boots, and Spock wore a simple pair of black brogans that blended in with the costumes of a surprising number of planets. Hats were not popular on Mephis, but Spock had decided that a dark, forest green stocking cap wouldn’t attract too much attention, given the chill.

McCoy was already in the transporter room with a medkit at the ready when Kirk and Spock got there. “I’ll be ready if you need me,” he said. Kirk caught McCoy brushing Spock’s hand just as they were stepping onto the transporter pad.

“What was that about?” asked Kirk, as they materialized on the planet.

“To what are you referring?” asked Spock. “Chekov should be this way,” he said, starting off.

Kirk followed. “He touched your hand as we were leaving.”

Spock cleared his throat. “The doctor wished to inform me that he found my attire aesthetically pleasing.”

“Really? Because ‘You look cute in that get-up,’ sounds more like Bones.”

“The form of telepathic communication that we share is not usually verbal. Images, emotions, sensations are all shared. A shared memory may include the words contained in that memory, but it requires great skill and concentration to communicate memories in a straightforward manner.”

They had beamed down in an alley at twilight, hoping that the near-darkness would conceal any noticeable peculiarities about them.

“And this is just something all Vulcan couples do?”

“To a greater or lesser extent. A Vulcan would not indulge in it as frivolously as McCoy does at times. No doubt some do not indulge at all, outside of prolonged physical contact.”

“During sex, you mean.”

Spock lifted an eyebrow, but chose to not take the bait. “The mental contact is not inherently sexual. Parents and children or siblings will also share this contact from time to time.”

“Really?”

“My mother and I do when we have been separated for a long period.”

“When you...” Kirk touched the fingertips of his right hand to the fingertips of his left.

“Yes.”

Kirk thought about this for a moment. “You tried to touch my mind. When you were dying.”

Spock looked straight ahead. “Yes. I was too lost to think of the glass that separated us. Or whether you would welcome such contact.”

“I’m not a relative or your spouse. This is something that friends might share?”

“Vulcans don’t have ‘friends’ as you mean the word. It is forbidden by Vulcan philosophy.” Spock paused. “Colleagues – people who work together toward a common goal – the relationship between parent and child, between spouses, between mentor or teacher and pupil. These are accepted relationships. They serve and strengthen Vulcan society. They are logical, even though they may have an emotional element.

“Friendships, such as the one you and I share, are considered dangerous indulgences in sentiment, and they are strongly discouraged. McCoy has an accepted place in my life now, but T’Pau was reluctant to legitimize what she saw as an illicit liaison. When Uhura says that we are ‘family,’ they would not understand the concept at all. ‘Friend, lover, chosen family’ – these are all relationships that exist only for the purpose of emotional gratification. They may even be viewed as seditious.”

“So, our friendship is unacceptable on Vulcan? I knew there was disapproval, but I had no idea to what extent.”

“It has no place in Vulcan society.”

“I see,” said Kirk, and left it at that. They had arrived at their destination.

Chekov was staying at the hotel under the name of Sendor Breel. They had no trouble finding his room.

“She tripped and bumped into the corner of a building,” he said when he learned of the problem with Uhura’s transponder. “She has one hell of a bruise right where the device was placed. She must have damaged it. She’s staying at the Pleer House Hotel, but because of the strict segregation of the sexes, we’ll have to call her and meet with her elsewhere.”

It was decided that Kirk and Chekov would meet Uhura at a nearby café. Spock joined them on the nearly deserted patio. With a little creative angling of their chairs, they were able to shield Uhura from view long enough for Spock to remove the broken transponder and place a new one in her uninjured arm.

They lingered, making fake small talk, long enough to not seem suspicious before going their separate ways. Spock and Kirk headed back to the alley where they had first beamed down.

They had walked in silence for about half the distance when Kirk spoke. “Years ago, when you… were almost married to T’Pring, you called McCoy and me your friends. Didn’t that shock T’Pau at the time?”

“It’s a quirk of the Universal Translator. Vulcans use one word to denote a colleague and another to describe a colleague to whom they feel a personal tie. I used the latter word, and the translator assigned the word ‘friend’ based on the feeling behind it, but it would be more accurately translated as ‘person who shares my work.’ It’s the word that my father uses to describe your relationship to me as well.

“When I say to you that I am your friend, I use your word. It would translate into Vulcan as... ‘dear one.’ That would most certainly have shocked T’Pau. Indeed, she was troubled by the nature of our relationship even then.”

Kirk paused for a moment. He seemed a little shocked at the direction this linguistics lesson had taken. “She seems to have accepted it now, at least in McCoy’s case.”

“She has acknowledged my right to both sides of my heritage. She understands that I cannot be whole if I am divided against myself. I don’t advocate this for other Vulcans nor seek to place my needs above those of Vulcan society; I merely accept that it is who I am.”

They had arrived at the place where they had first transported down. After checking to see if the alley was still empty, Kirk brought out his communicator.

“After all these years, you still surprise me, Spock.” He flipped the communicator open. “Beam us up, Mr. Carlisle.”

 

 

“Ow! I’m going to be as bald as you if you keep that up!” McCoy was addressing the toddler currently standing in his lap and yanking on his hair for all he was worth.

“Why you got this up here?” asked the boy.

“It’s a handle,” said McCoy. “On my planet, if our mamas wanted to stop us from running around, they’d just grab a big old handful of our hair.”

“No!” giggled the child. “That not true!”

“No, it’s not,” chuckled McCoy. “They just holler our names at us.” McCoy held up the hypospray. “This won’t hurt a bit, I promise.” He administered the vaccine.

“But why you got this?” insisted the boy, now patting McCoy’s hair gently.

“It’s just how my people are. Terrans (well, most of them) have hair and Kersellans (that’s you) don’t. Everybody’s a little different.”

“Oh. Okay.”

McCoy handed the kid back to his mother and stood up to check on how the younger doctors were doing. It was the last day of the vaccination effort on Kersel IV, and it had gone very well.

Kirk caught up to him just as he finished talking to the last member of his staff. “Bones. Status report?”

“We’re just wrapping up here, Jim. Maybe another twenty minutes to finish the vaccinations, then half an hour to clean up.”

“Good. We just got orders to pick up a couple of diplomats on Regulus and transport them to Risa for a meeting. I’d like to leave in an hour.”

“Everybody wants to have their meetings on Risa. Do you think they ever get any work done?”

“We have to wait around for four days whether they accomplish anything or not, and I, for one, could use the shore leave.”

McCoys face lit up. “They have very poofy beds there.”

“The poofiest.”

“And it’s very warm.”

“Nearly as warm as you and Spock keep your quarters.”

“He _is_ from Vulcan. And I’m from Georgia.”

McCoy started packing supplies into totes.

“Bones, do you remember Mephis?”

“The kilts and woolly sweaters planet?” McCoy paused to smile absently at some memory.

“Yes, Bones. The kilts and woolly sweaters planet.”

“What about it?”

“I had a strange conversation with Spock there.”

“You know, Jim, you can have strange conversations with Spock without ever leaving the _Enterprise_.”

Kirk ignored this. “Spock told me that he tried to initiate contact with my mind once. Not the mind-meld, but more like he does with you.”

McCoy nodded. “When he was dying. I saw. And right after he pulled that damn-fool stunt with V-ger.”

This was clearly news to Kirk.

“Close your mouth, Jim. You look like an Edosian suckerfish.”

“I had no idea. Why didn’t it work?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” said McCoy. “No, wait. My guess would be much better than yours, but it’s still just a guess. Shouldn’t you be having this conversation with Spock?”

“I will. I was hoping you might have some insight.”

“Well, like Spock said while we were waiting to see if Sybok was going to get us killed, you probably resisted it. It’s not like the mind-meld. It’s just an invitation – one that you apparently declined, though not consciously.

“Now maybe you want to try it, but you’re also a little afraid to try it. And you’re talking to me because you want assurances or my blessing; I’m not sure which. If you want to know if it’s safe – hell no, it ain’t safe. It’s intimate, and that’s never strictly safe. If you want my blessing --” McCoy hesitated. “I’m territorial enough to want to keep him to myself, but that’s not how it works. That’s not how the three of us work. We make room for each other. Even when it’s a little uncomfortable. If we hadn’t learned to do that a long time ago, we wouldn’t be… us.”

“Well, that certainly… clears things up.”

“That was my blessing, take it or leave it.”

“Thanks, Bones.”

“If you want to thank me, you’ll start moving equipment over to the transporter pad. You’re cutting into my shore leave.”

 

***

 

“You were… jealous at times?” asked Spock.

“Oh boy, we get to discuss all of my insecurities today,” McCoy said. “I got a tiny nip from the green-eyed monster now and then. You two were close, and I know you found him ‘aesthetically pleasing.’ But I also knew that Jim was only interested in women and you had formed a bond with me, so it wasn’t like anything was going to happen. And Jim was my friend. I wasn’t going to throw that away to indulge some primitive instinct. That would be irrational, even for me.”

“I see no point in discussing a hypothetical situation that would never have occurred, but Jim would have wanted hearts and flowers and candy on Valentine’s Day.”

McCoy chuckled. “You’re probably right. Not that you’re any slouch in the romance department.”

[ _garden_ ]

“I have never given you confections. They are unhealthy,” said Spock.

“Okay, okay.” McCoy was trying not to let his laughter become another coughing fit. “Picking up the story of our lives, again...”

“We were relics, and the _Enterprise_ was a museum.”

“We had one last entry to make in the history books though, didn’t we?” said McCoy.

 

***

 

“Considering another protégé?” McCoy picked up the PADD that Spock had left on their table. “Wait, I know this one.”

“Unsurprising. I sponsored her admission to the Academy twelve years ago.”

“I remember. You also spent a great deal of time with her while she was at the Academy. Why didn’t she come here for training?”

“There was no ‘here.’ Valeris was scheduled to be on the next training run after the Battle of the Mutara Nebula.”

“You were a little busy recovering from being dead. For that matter, so was the _Enterprise_.”

“Indeed. She trained on the _Ahwahnee_. After that, she accepted a position on the _Kaku_ , one of the _Oberth_ -class science vessels.”

Spock stood behind McCoy and put his arms around him. McCoy leaned back and kissed Spock. They were apparently going to have a Discussion. Spock preferred to be in telepathic contact with McCoy whenever he had something important to say. McCoy preferred to get a little canoodle in before the heavy stuff.

[ _structure, shelter, affection, devotion – husband_ ]

McCoy turned to Spock and leaned against the table. “Alright, so what is it and what does Lieutenant Valeris have to do with it?”

“I am considering retirement from Starfleet. She has been offered a berth on the _Enterprise_ when her stint on the _Kaku_ is completed. If she continues to perform in an exemplary manner, I will recommend her to replace me as Science Officer.”

“Retirement? You’re only sixty-one.”

“I have been considering a change of vocation. We have become increasingly involved in diplomatic missions, and I find that I enjoy the work and have some talent for it.”

“You once chose Starfleet over following in Sarek’s footsteps.”

“My logic was sound in taking that path. I had much to gain from Starfleet [ _acceptance, friendship, self-knowledge, wisdom, you_ ], and my service here has had value, but I believe that my abilities may best be utilized elsewhere now.”

McCoy could feel the weight of Spock’s careful consideration behind this decision. It wasn’t too late to back away from it, but it was clearly what Spock wanted. Logic and emotion had both led him here.

“And you’re wondering how we’ll make that work with my career and our marriage,” said McCoy.

“I was wondering if you would agree to this change, but it does present certain difficulties,” said Spock.

“So we’ll work through them. Spock, you stayed on the _Enterprise_ for me. I’m not going to stand in your way now. Besides, a career change might not be so bad for me either. Starfleet isn’t going to let me run around space until I’m ninety, even if my body thinks it’s only sixty-four.”

“There is logic to that. I’m accustomed now to thinking of you as younger than your years, but of course Starfleet would not.”

“Mind you, I’m a doctor, not an ambassadorial adjunct. I really don’t think I can do Amanda’s job.”

[ _let me be where I’m needed_ ]

[ _when you’re with me, you are where you’re needed_ ]

“I understand. We have ample opportunity to consider the details,” said Spock.

“What kind of time frame are we talking about here?”

“The _Enterprise_ is due for maintenance in two years. I have no doubt that she will be decommissioned at that time. She is already the last _Constitution_ -class ship still flying. That seems like a fitting occasion.”

 

 

Spock’s words turned out to be prophetic. Barely one month later, a memo came from Starfleet stating that the _Enterprise_ -A would not be receiving another refit, but would be decommissioned in two years. Between missions, the senior crew began to consider their next moves.

Chekov decided that he wasn’t quite ready to leave space just yet. He applied for a berth on the _Xuanzang_ , an exploration vessel that would be finishing its next refit a few months after the _Enterprise_ was scheduled to be decommissioned. “It will be good to take a nice, long vacation first.”

Uhura decided to apply for a job teaching Communications at the Starfleet Technical Services Academy on Mars and was accepted.

Scotty bought a boat. “A boat, Scotty?” asked Kirk.

“Aye, Captain.” Scotty grinned. “She’s yare.”

“Yare?”

“Aye, yare.”

 

 

“So, I hear you’ve accepted a position at the Academy,” said Kirk. He and McCoy were having a late supper in Kirk’s quarters.

“That was quick. I only got the communication confirming it this morning. Is anything private on this ship?"

“Admiral Brown let it slip during his call this afternoon.”

“Well, I was going to tell you tonight.”

“And you didn’t tell me when you applied because you didn’t want to jinx it?” Kirk was valiantly trying to suppress a smirk.

“Something like that,” said McCoy, dryly.

“Okay, Bones.” Kirk’s smile turned warm. “So why the Academy?”

“There’s a residency program there. I ain’t ready to give up practicing or teaching medicine just yet. And Spock will be in San Francisco a lot of the time. It seems like a good fit.”

“Well, congratulations. I hope it works out.”

“Thanks,” said McCoy. “And what about you? Got any plans yet?”

“I’ll retire, again. It’ll probably stick this time. I’m getting obsolete.”

“The hell you are. You’re a damn fine captain, Captain.”

“I’ve commanded the _Enterprise_ for twenty-five years, Bones. _Constitution_ -class was state-of-the-art when I started. Now I’d have to learn a brand-new ship.”

“So? You’re smart. You can figure it out. And commanding a starship is a special skill, Jim, one that not many people have. You’ve got fifteen years before you need to consider retiring.”

“Sixteen, but who’s counting?” Jim was definitely counting. “If I wait until the mandatory retirement age, it will be too late to try anything else. I don’t want to spend the last quarter of my life with just a gold watch for company.”

“So you’re going back to Idaho?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you move in with me?”

“Wouldn’t your husband disapprove of us shacking up?” asked Kirk, giving his eyelashes a little flutter.

“Everybody’s a comedian,” said McCoy. “I get married housing. Those apartments are huge, and they have two bedrooms. I’d just be rattling around by myself, a lot of the time.”

“Are you sure, Bones?”

“Yes, and bring your stuff. I don’t have much, and anything that’s not covered will sprout candles within a week.”

Kirk smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

“You do that. Otherwise if San Francisco burns down again, it’ll be on your head.”

 

 

Spock was named Special Envoy to the Federation, and his protégé, Lieutenant Valeris, came aboard to take his place as Chief Science Officer for the last six months of the _Enterprise’s_ run.

“Spock’s delighted to finally have her on the same ship,” said McCoy as he and Kirk were walking toward a conference room at HQ. “He has high hopes for her, and I think he was disappointed when she took an assignment elsewhere.”

“Speaking of Spock, where is he?” asked Kirk. “He’s supposed to be with us on whatever this next mission is.”

“I haven’t seen him yet, but he sent me a message this morning saying he’d be here.”

Spock was there, all right. He had promised the _Enterprise_ and her captain for a mission escorting Klingons to a peace talk.

No one was happy about it. Kirk wasn’t happy, McCoy wasn’t happy, even Uhura had a few choice words about the situation. And when they met up with the Klingons, they weren’t happy either.

Dinner and Romulan ale didn’t improve the situation. McCoy, at least, was gamely trying, rather than say, getting distracted over who wrote Hamlet. By the time it was over, McCoy was ready for strong coffee and bed. He’d never had Romulan ale that packed such a wallop.

He was still hungover when all hell broke loose. As usual, he rushed off in the direction of the injured, even though they were Klingons and he a.) didn’t particularly like Klingons and b.) knew next to nothing about Klingon anatomy. When McCoy saw him bleeding out on a table, Gorkon went instantly from distrusted enemy to patient, not that McCoy couldn’t shove him right back into the former category, but Gorkon died before McCoy could change his mind.

Then he and Kirk were arrested and “tried” in a “court” of “law” before being sent to the penal colony at Rura Penthe. Kirk managed to fight, flirt, and finagle a way outside of the zone in which a transporter wouldn’t work, and Spock retrieved them. It was right as the warden of Rura Penthe was about to unburden himself of the details of the whole conspiracy, so they missed that, but nobody wanted to go back for it.

As they left the transporter room, Spock grabbed McCoy’s arm, holding him back. As soon as the door slid shut on Kirk and Chekov, Spock pressed McCoy against a bulkhead and kissed him briefly, but as thoroughly as possible.

“The thing that I admire most about you, Doctor, is the very thing that keeps threatening to take you away.”

“Is it really me you’re mad at?”

“Only partially,” Spock admitted.

“Let’s call this one a team effort then.” He gave Spock one more quick kiss before they were off to catch conspirators and save the galaxy, or at least the Alpha and Beta quadrants.

A couple of dead assassins and a whispered conversation later, and they had their chief suspect. They set a trap.

“Are you insane? There is absolutely no reason to use yourself as bait!” McCoy was simultaneously adjusting the display on one of the biobeds and reading his husband the riot act.

“We haven’t much time. Our best chance is to capture her in the act without rendering her unconscious. I assure you, Doctor, that I will be perfectly safe.”

“Safe! With a murderess coming here to finish the job?”

“She will have the phaser set to ‘stun’ again to avoid the alarms. Even at close range, she won’t be able to kill a Vulcan.”

“She can if she hits your heart.”

“Which she will not be aiming for because she will think that I am one of the human assassins.” Spock tapped the monitor for the biobed to remind McCoy of his task.

“It’s done. It’ll display human life-signs,” said McCoy.

Spock handed McCoy his phaser. “If she aims for my heart, feel free to shoot her, Doctor.”

Luckily, no one got shot.

Well, maybe it wasn’t so lucky for Valeris. McCoy hadn’t seen Spock so angry since Sarpeidon, when his Vulcan brain had regressed to a Pre-Awakening state.

He taunted Valeris. He called her illogical and a liar. He knocked the phaser from her hand. He forced her into a mind-meld and unlocked the names of her co-conspirators from wherever she had hidden them away, then he went rummaging around for the location of the peace talks – information that Valeris didn’t have. He had not been gentle about any of it.

After they got the location from Sulu, McCoy went to the brig to check on Valeris.

“No permanent damage, but I’m sure you have one hell of a headache,” he said as he put the scanner back into its holder on his tricorder.

“Surely, you don’t believe in this peace?” she asked.

“I believe in Spock. I wish you had. It would’ve saved us all a lot of trouble.”

“Do you, still?”

“Yes.”

Spock was waiting in the corridor outside the brig.

“You should sleep, husband.”

“No kidding.” McCoy rubbed a hand over the three-day growth of beard. “A shave and a shower first. I smell like a… well, like a Klingon gulag actually.” They started walking toward their quarters. “Are you coming to bed?”

“No, I need meditation more than sleep.”

“I can’t tell if touching you would make things better or worse.”

Spock put a hand on McCoy’s shoulder where there were three layers of cloth separating it from McCoy’s skin. “Soon. For now, reassure me that I needn’t concern myself with your welfare for a few hours.”

“I couldn’t stay awake long enough to get into trouble if I tried.”

“I’ll wake you when we near Khitomer.”

“Okay.” McCoy entered their quarters and headed off to the sonic shower.

Unfortunately, Spock made good on his promise. Five minutes after he lay down, McCoy was awakened by Spock’s voice on the intercom, requesting his presence on the bridge. The chronometer said that he had slept for nearly six hours. The chronometer was a damn liar.

McCoy arrived on the bridge with his usual good timing – right when everything got pants-wettingly terrifying. On the other hand, flinging yourself toward a planet while trying to fight off an invisible Klingon warship will do wonders for clearing out the cobwebs.

Then he and Spock were off to rig a torpedo with some science stuff.

They performed the task while linked. It was a strange sensation to be sharing this without much emotion, but Spock’s were back under his control, and McCoy was in that quiet place that focusing on a complicated task always brought. Then the torpedo was away.

“Transporter room, Doctor.”

McCoy grinned. “Right behind you, Spock.”

They made it to the conference hall just in time to save the President of the Federation of Planets (and anyone else who needed saving, for that matter) in fairly spectacular fashion.

 

***

 

“Should we talk about Valeris?” asked McCoy

[ _regret, anger, shame_ ]

“I’m going to take that as a ‘yes,’” he said.

“I failed her. I failed you and Jim. I failed the crew,” said Spock.

“So you’ve said. I still don’t see it.”

“I was her mentor. It was my duty to see the weaknesses in her logic and correct her.”

“Didn’t you? You said that you two discussed the peace talks beforehand.”

“I should have been present in her life before that. I should have known her better and had her trust. I allowed myself to be swayed by the luster of her accomplishments.”

“Spock, you can’t read minds-- I mean, of course, you _can_ read minds, but you clearly weren’t. Nothing short of a mind-meld was going to tell you what she was up to, and you couldn’t force her without a reason.”

[ _Valeris, eyes wide with fear and pain, mouth open to scream_ ]

“And you feel guilty about that too,” said McCoy. “We had her dead to rights, and we needed that information.”

“I took it in anger. Logic dictated the action, but I performed it with fury. When I saw that she didn’t possess all of the knowledge I sought, I came close to taking revenge on her mind. I wanted to destroy her.”

“But you didn’t.”

 

***

 

After all of the excitement, everyone moved on to another room at the conference center while the officials documented what was now a crime scene. It was a cavernous chamber, with a gallery running around three sides and a floor-to-ceiling window on the fourth – it was apparently where refreshments were meant to be served after the opening meeting. Staff were frantically trying to set out food and drink.

Everyone was interested in speaking to a member of the _Enterprise’s_ crew.

“Commander McCoy.” It took McCoy a second to realize that the Klingon was addressing him.

“I prefer Doctor McCoy, uhm?”

“Colonel Kaden. You do not wish to be addressed by your military rank?”

McCoy smiled. He knew the guy was just trying to be nice. “It’s our custom.”

“Odd. Chancellor Azetbur would like to speak with you. Come with me.”

Stifling his inappropriate mirth, McCoy did as he was “requested.” Azetbur and another Klingon woman were seated in a corner under the gallery, surrounded by four members of her guard.

“Chancellor,” said Kaden, “I have brought… Dr. McCoy.”

Azetbur stood and held out her hand. McCoy clasped it politely but firmly, hoping that this showed proper respect. It must have been okay. Azetbur didn’t look disgusted as the handshake ended.

“I wanted to... apologize, Doctor. I realize now, of course, that your efforts to save my father were sincere.”

“It’s a mistake anyone could’ve made. You suffered a big loss, and you were grieving.”

“The Klingon heart is fierce. It seeks to fight when it has been deeply hurt.”

McCoy nodded. “For a time, our fathers are the strongest people in the universe. It’s hard when we see that they were mortal, after all.”

Azetbur leaned forward slightly, looking McCoy intently in the eye. “And to see a brave warrior cut down by cowards! It burns like plasma in my heart!”

The other woman spoke. “It does Gorkon honor to have a daughter who will carry on her father’s fight, who will see justice done to those who betrayed him. Many stand with you, Azetbur. We will see his spirit yet in Sto’Vo’Kor.”

Azetbur’s temper seemed to calm. “Dr. McCoy, I present to you Lady Mara, mistress of the House of Kang.”

“Mara? How are you?” McCoy clasped the proffered hand warmly. “I mean, Lady Mara, it’s good to see you after all these years.”

Mara barked out a laugh. “It’s good to see you too, McCoy. When we heard that a Federation doctor stormed onto Gorkon’s ship and attempted to revive him, Kang said, ‘It is either lies or it is McCoy.’”

“He is already known to you?” asked Azetbur.

“It’s a story for a cold night,” said Mara, “but Kang once saw him shove two Klingon warriors off a fallen comrade.”

“I can be a little feisty when my temper’s up,” admitted McCoy.

“I told you that humans have more in common with Klingons than you thought.” A young Trill man joined their circle.

“Perhaps you are right,” said Azetbur. “Dr. McCoy, I present to you Federation Ambassador Curzon Dax of Trill. Ambassador, this is Dr. Leonard McCoy of the Federation Starship, _Enterprise_.”

What would be the odds?

McCoy shook the Trill’s hand. “Ambassador Dax.”

“Dr. McCoy.”

“Dr. McCoy attempted to save Chancellor Gorkon’s life,” said Mara.

“I’ve heard the tale. It was a brave move.”

McCoy was starting to get a little uncomfortable with people telling him how courageous he was. “I regret that I was unsuccessful. I didn’t have the necessary knowledge of Klingon physiology. Chancellor, I know that you’ll be busy working out details for some time to come, but I think an exchange of medical knowledge would be a good idea, especially if we’re going to be allies now.”

“It will be a rather one-sided exchange,” said Mara. “Medicine, like all of the sciences, are woefully undervalued among us.”

Mara sounded just a little bitter about this. McCoy remembered that her role on Kang’s ship was that of Science Officer.

“All the more reason not to forget it during these talks,” said Azetbur.

McCoy grinned at her. “Thank you, Chancellor.”

A movement on the opposite gallery caught McCoy’s eye. “It appears my husband is trying to get my attention. I’d better go see what he wants.”

“Husband? Is that allowed among humans?” asked Azetbur.

“All members of the Federation allow their citizens to marry as they wish,” said Dax.

“I take it that’s not the case in the Klingon Empire?” asked McCoy.

“Such couples exist, of course,” said Mara, “but our laws allow marriage only between a man and a woman. Those that are otherwise may form different alliances.”

“I see,” said McCoy. “Well, I’d best take my leave now. It was good to see you again, Chancellor, Lady Mara. It was nice to meet you Ambassador Dax.” He looked around. “Does anyone know where the stairs are?”

“Allow me, Doctor,” said Dax, bowing to the ladies, and leading McCoy toward a nearby doorway.

“So, Dax...”

“So, Leonard.” Dax grinned.

“There’s something different about you.”

“You’ve changed a bit yourself. And you’re married.” They were heading up the steps. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Captain (soon to be Ambassador) Spock.”

“Sarek of Vulcan’s son? I’ve heard about him, but we’ve never met.”

“I’ll introduce you.”

“I can’t right now. I’m going to be late to a meeting with a couple of generals if I don’t get going, but I just couldn’t resist the chance to say hi. Emony had a lot of fond memories of you, and she would haunt my dreams if I didn’t.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that. I take it Trill symbionts are still top secret?” asked McCoy.

“Yes, although it’s getting to be more and more of an open secret. Emony’s not the only one who couldn’t keep her mouth shut when she’d had too many,” said Dax.

“Don’t make me defend her honor, now.”

Dax laughed. “Oh, her honor is safe with me, I assure you.”

“Good,” said McCoy. “Take care, Dax. It was great to see you again and meet you for the first time.”

“Same here, Leonard,” said Dax. He gave McCoy a little wink before he turned and went off to his meeting.

McCoy made his way down the gallery to where Spock was standing, talking to a Romulan man.

Spock held the first two fingers of his right hand toward McCoy. Right, time to be the spouse of the Special Envoy. McCoy touched Spock’s fingertips with his own while simultaneously keeping his body facing the Romulan, and hoping that he was managing even a quarter of the grace that Amanda displayed when she did this.

“Senator, may I present he who is my husband, Dr. Leonard McCoy, Chief Medical Officer of the _Enterprise_. Doctor, this is Senator Pardek of the Romulan Empire.”

“Senator Pardek.”

“Dr. McCoy. Envoy Spock and I were just discussing whether there are too many differences between Klingons and the members of the Federation for peace to be achieved at these talks.”

“The Ambassador from Trill was just pointing out that we may have more in common that we suspect,” said McCoy.

“Well,” said Pardek, “if anyone can be said to understand the Klingons, it’s Curzon Dax.”

 

 

Back on board the _Enterprise_ , the order came from Starfleet to return to Sol system immediately. The ship was too damaged, they wanted to decommission her at once.

Nobody was particularly keen on this course of action. It was a bit of a disappointment, really. There were a lot of long faces.

Spock even suggested that “go to hell” might be an appropriate response.

Kirk just smiled and told Chekov that the new course heading was “Second star to the right. And straight on ‘til morning.”

McCoy grinned.

“Good job, Jim!” he said. “I’m going to bed for a week now.”

“Oh god, me too,” said Kirk. “Take us back to Earth, Commander. But take the scenic route and don’t hurry.”

“Aye, Captain,” said Chekov.

“Risa’s on the way, isn’t it?” asked Uhura.

“It is now,” said Kirk, heading toward the turbolift. “Get the relief crew up here, Commander,” he told her as he passed her station.

“With pleasure, Captain,” she replied.

 

 

It took them about two weeks to wend their way back to the fleetyards. Starfleet was remarkably patient with their shenanigans. They only asked Kirk if he was planning on commandeering another _Enterprise_ once.

But finally, they were home.

“Funny,” said Chekov. “I feel like I’m leaving home.”

Kirk asked the old crew to stay for a little get-together after the “kids” had disembarked. The _Excelsior_ was also in for repairs, so Kirk invited Sulu and Rand, as well. Even Dr. Chapel came up from Earth.

Kirk opened a few bottles of Kandora champagne in the observation lounge. They all sat, looking at out the stars, sipping champagne, and reminiscing. Even Spock had a glass.

“The taste is more delicate than I thought it would be,” he remarked.

Finally, Kirk stood and raised his glass. “I just want to say, that you were, without a doubt, the finest crew… ever. It has been a pleasure and an honor to serve with all of you. They say that a ship is only as good as her captain, but a captain is only as good as his crew. Over the years you’ve made me proud to work with such dedicated, resourceful, and hard-working people. And you’ve touched me with your loyalty and kindness. I can never thank you enough. So, here’s to the _Enterprise_ , and to her crew.”

“And to her captain,” added McCoy.

“And to her captain!” came the chorus.

Spock had brought his lyre. He took it out and began to play. His song was soft at first, but eventually Uhura recognized the tune. She nodded at him and he picked up the volume. The others smiled as they also recognized the music.

Then Uhura sang –

“ _The skies are green and glowing,_

 _Where my heart is, where my heart is..._ ”

By the time she got to the last verse –

“ _Then let the years go fading,_

 _Where my heart is, where my heart is..._ ”

\--there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

“ _Somewhere, beyond the stars…_

 _Beyond Antares._ ”

Even Spock’s eyes were suspiciously bright.

 

***

 

“I spent twenty-five years on the _Enterprise_ – less the a fifth of my life,” said McCoy. “Still seems like that was the biggest part of it.”

“Individually, we have achieved much,” said Spock. “But as a team, what we accomplished was astonishing.”

“We did manage to pull off some pretty amazing feats, while we were all together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Beyond Antares" is the song that Nichelle Nichols sang during the episodes "The Conscience of the King" and "The Changeling." Wilbur Hatch wrote the music and Gene L. Coon wrote the lyrics.


	8. Weight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to lie, this is a pretty rough chapter, emotionally. This is the chapter where tags like "Major Character Death," "Mass Murder," and "Ableism." come into play. 
> 
> Spoilers ahead. 
> 
>  
> 
> Mass Murder and Ableism -- the events of Tarsus IV are discussed in this chapter. It isn't gory, but it is pointed out that Kodos chose his victims because he considered them physically or mentally unfit to be of benefit to the colony. If you want to skip this bit, it is the long telepathic (bracketed and italicized) passage that begins after Spock takes Kirk's hand. I'll provide a brief synopsis of anything narratively important in the notes at the end.

“You slept poorly last night. Are you sure you aren’t too fatigued for this?” asked Spock. He cupped McCoy’s cheek and touched a thumb delicately to the darkness under McCoy’s eye.

“It ain’t going to get any easier later.”

Spock arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah,” said McCoy. “I’m aware of the irony, thanks.”

McCoy leaned into Spock’s hand, closing his eyes for a moment. “I wish this wasn’t so difficult,” said McCoy. He was not referring to the ritual.

Spock pulled McCoy close and wrapped his arms around him. “I am not unduly burdened.”

[ _whatever you need_ ]

McCoy stepped back and smiled. “Come on, then. Let’s do this.” He took Spock’s hand and led him into the garden.

Once they had settled (There was no discussion about spoons today. Spock sat against the wall.), McCoy said, “We spent the first twenty years of our marriage with nothing but a small chunk of starship to hang our uniforms in. Suddenly, we had two homes on separate planets.”

 

***

 

“Rain is one thing I really missed in space.”

Kirk was standing on the balcony of the Marin County apartment that he was sharing with Spock and McCoy. Not that he spent much time here. It seemed that he was always finding something to do on any other planet – aiding in a relief effort on Celes II, giving a series of lectures on Tellar, participating in negotiations with the Capellans (It was hoped that Teer Leonard James Akaar would be friendlier toward his namesake. He wasn’t. But they managed to sign a new agreement anyway.), and attending Peter Kirk’s wedding on Aldebaran III.

“It is a pleasant phenomenon,” agreed Spock, although Kirk doubted that Spock would find it quite as pleasant if the balcony above theirs didn’t block most of the rain.

Spock was also frequently off-planet – usually shuttling between Babel, Vulcan, and occasionally, Khitomer.

But this evening it was McCoy who was missing. He had gone to Mars earlier to discuss the basic curriculum for the corpsmen with Drs. Vreland and T’Pres. He was to dine with them tonight before taking the late transport back.

Spock and Kirk had just finished their own dinner – take-out from the noodle shop up the street – and had been discussing whether or not to add some plants to the balcony. It wasn’t much of an outdoor space, but it was on the southern side of the building, and it was vast compared to a shelf and a grow light, which was about the most one could expect on a starship.

“I have a number of plants that would do well in this environment.” said Spock.

“You have plants?”

“Dr. McCoy has often given me flowering plants for my meditation space.”

“Bones gives you flowers?”

“Occasionally. They are now in my parents’ home. I plan to move them to our house on Vulcan once renovations are complete, but I think some of them would fare better here.”

“Sounds like a perfectly logical arrangement,” said Kirk.

“It is, which is why I fail to see why you are smirking about it.”

Spock and Kirk had been decorating the apartment for the last few weeks. Spock had supplied most of the artwork (mostly Vulcan abstract pieces with a few paintings and sculptures by Humans – Egon Schiele, Marc Chagall, Theodora Jewett) and rugs made of some soft, shaggy fiber. Kirk had chosen the furniture – mission-style pieces with dark brown leather and tiger-sawn oak. McCoy had been correct about the size of the apartment. The vestibule opened onto a huge living/dining room with a small, but efficient kitchen off to the side. The bedrooms were located on opposite sides of the main room. Each bedroom had its own bathroom. The walls were off-white and there was a fireplace on one wall. The overall effect was eclectic and warm.

The balcony, however, was anything but. The setting sun and the rain were bringing a chill with them. Spock and Kirk went back inside.

Spock prepared a small pot of tea.

Kirk looked out at the rain for a moment, then went to the fireplace. Spock thought he might be considering a fire, but he merely stared at the hearth for a moment, then came back to the kitchen and watched as Spock measured leaves into the teapot. Then he sat in his favorite chair. Then he got up again for a book. He had plenty to choose from. McCoy, it had turned out, had a surprisingly large collection. He sat down again and tried to read.

“You seem troubled, Jim.”

“I do?” asked Kirk.

Spock handed him a full tea bowl. Kirk took a small sip. “You finished that book before you left.”

“Maybe I just want to read it again.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Restlessness of the body often reflects a restlessness of the mind.”

It was Kirk’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“You were pacing,” said Spock.

Kirk sighed and set the book on a nearby table. “I think I’m already regretting my decision to leave Starfleet.”

Spock nodded. “I can’t say that I am surprised. I find it most perplexing that you would relinquish your career. You are barely sixty, and you clearly find command of a starship to be fulfilling. And yet, this is not the first time that you have sought to pursue another life.”

“I love it, but the bottom line is it’s lonely. You and Bones are like family to me, but at the end of the day, I have nowhere to go except a cold bunk. And now I wouldn’t even have you two.” Kirk sighed. “I started at the Academy a week after I turned nineteen. I’ve been serving in Starfleet ever since. How much is enough? I had hoped that with the _Enterprise_ gone, I wouldn’t feel that old pull, but I do. And now, with the rumors that the next _Excelsior_ -class ship will be named _Enterprise_...”

Kirk sipped his tea, then set the cup next to his book.

“I feel powerful when I’m commanding a ship,” said Kirk. “I feel like I can change things for the better. I can right wrongs and slay dragons. That’s what I miss. But then it starts to feel like the price is too high, like I’m living entirely to serve her.”

Kirk rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry, Spock. You must’ve heard this complaint dozens of times over the years.”

“It is a quandary you have yet to resolve,” said Spock. “Perhaps there is no satisfactory resolution.”

“I’m sitting here with proof that there is one.”

Spock opened his mouth to say something, but Kirk made a “stop” gesture with his hand.

“I know. Your speech to a certain ensign a few years ago wasn’t lost on me. Making life and death decisions for my crew is hard enough. I can’t take the added responsibility of having a partner serving with me. If I really want that kind of relationship, I have to get out of that command chair and stay out of it.

“But I feel… _compelled_ to go back to it – like I’m committing an act of betrayal by not being there. It’s almost as if I’m letting the whole galaxy down if I’m not sitting in that chair. God, that sounds egotistical, even to me.”

Spock sipped his tea, considering his friend’s words. Over the years, they had often discussed Kirk’s longing for an intimate, romantic relationship, but it seemed to Spock that the subject of the influence that the _Enterprise_ exerted on Kirk’s psyche had not been explored adequately. It had always been considered as a simple, natural desire for a man such as Kirk – a man for whom command was both privilege and duty.

Perhaps there was something more. Spock stood and moved to the chair closest to Kirk.

“Sometimes,” said Spock, “when a Vulcan has an unresolved internal conflict, he will turn to a relative or trusted mentor for help. They will use telepathy in a collaborative effort to discover the cause of the conflict. This has been a source of distress to you for years, Jim. You have considered engaging in the type of mental contact that I share with McCoy in the past, and I would like to lend you assistance, if I can.”

“Would it work? You told me that you believe I instinctively reject that kind of contact.”

“I believe that you do, but you should be able to overcome that instinct.”

“What if I hurt you? You can’t shield during this type of telepathy, can you?”

“You will not harm me. Either of us would be able to break the contact at any time.”

Kirk sat silent for a moment, then let out a long breath. “I can’t believe I’m this nervous about something that Bones does whenever he feels the need to comment on the attractiveness of your ass.”

This elicited a dry chuckle from Spock.

Kirk smiled. “Alright. It’s true that I’ve wanted to try it, and it would be ungrateful, not to mention illogical, to reject your help.” He held out his left hand.

Spock took Kirk’s hand in his own.

“Concentrate on the sensation of my hand in yours, then ‘push’ that sensation toward me.”

Kirk wasn’t sure that he understood that completely, but he tried.

[ _warm dry, cool_ ]

It worked! Kirk could feel the sensation of his own hand in Spock’s, then the echo of the sensation of Spock’s hand in his. He could also see his own somewhat startled expression, then Spock’s calm face, then his own. It was confusing.

“Close your eyes,” said Spock. That was better. “Consider your dilemma and let your mind drift. I will be with you.”

Kirk sat in the chair, absently rubbing the polished wood of the arm, until he noticed that it no longer felt like wood grain beneath his fingertips.

[ _Plastic, smooth plastic and farther back_ _on the arm_ _, the console. He can speak to anyone on the ship, order any action. He feels the thrum of the engines,_ _their sound just at the lowest edge of human hearing. With a word, he could command those engines to take_ _him_ _anywhere in the quadrant. He can hear other sounds now, the rustle of bodies, the beeps and whistles of the instruments, the murmur of his crew exchanging information. These sounds press on him like a weight, but they comfort as well._

 _T_ _he viewer of the Science Officer’s Station is in front of him. He can see a Commander’s_ _braid_ _on his blue sleeve. He looks back at the Captain’s chair. A boy of_ _nine_ _teen sits there, solemn, his hazel eyes big as he tries to take in what’s happening around him._

“ _How long will I have to stay?”_ ] Kirk was aware that he was speaking these words aloud in a room in Marin County. The voice he heard seemed strange to him, older and deeper than he expected.

“Until the debt is paid.” [ _Uhura presses a small hand to his cheek, her eyes are infinitely compassionate._

“ _How long will I have to stay?”_

“ _Just until the relief ship comes_ _in six months.” His mother’s hand presses his cheek. “Then we’ll all go home to Iowa.”_

_No, Idaho. Uncle Mark’s farm. Put the saddle on Juniper (she’s long dead) on Sloe, then. A ride will make him feel better, especially if Antonia is there._

“ _How long will you stay?” Carol, naked and warm, limp with post-coital laziness._

“ _I’m stationed here for the next four months.”_

“ _How long will you stay?” “_ _How long?” “How long?”_ _Ruth, Janet,_ _Areel, Edith, Miramanee “How long will you stay? Because when you go, I will not come with you.”_

“ _How long will you stay?”_

“ _Six months, Mrs. Khouri. I’ll_ _leave on the relief ship._ _”_

 _H_ _e studies. Geology, Mathematics, History, Literature (Shakespeare and Melville), Biology. Hears the rumble of the big machines as they bring in the harvest, deposit grain in the_ _elevators. The smaller transports bring fruits and vegetables to the processing plants. Then the cattle come, a white X on their black flanks. The colonists chose them carefully. Leave the best to breed. The rest become food_ _– a meager taste of meat in a mostly grain-based diet_ _._

_The slaughterhouse is carefully designed to keep them from panicking. The process is painless. Humane. The best will live. The rest will die._

_Biolog_ _y (Protista – Fungi) Aspergillus Tarsusae. Acid yellow. It has already produced spores that infiltrate the walls and floors of the buildings that_ _hold_ _the grain. He joins the crews hauling the spoiled grain to the disintegration chamber._

_Over two-thirds of their food must be destroyed._

_The relief ship will not arrive for another four months._

_The food will last for two, and that’s at reduced rations._

_They finish decontaminating the grain elevators. He takes a report to the new Governor._

“ _How old are you?” A rich baritone. Diction perfect._

“ _Fourteen.”_

“ _I see. You may go.” His face is handsome, red hair and beard neatly trimmed, eyes large and intelligent._

_Many of the older students are no longer in school. They have become part of the security force. They wear grey coveralls and carry stunners. The phasers are only for some of the older security officers. The trusted ones._

_At first the colonists think that the extra security is to quell riots._

_Then comes the morning when they learn the truth._

_The sun has not yet reached the horizon of Tarsus IV. Everything is colorless in the early morning light._

_When they start pulling people out of bed, they check them against a list. A black X on the hand for some. They don’t know it yet, but the black X’s are for those deemed too old. Or too stupid. Or too crippled. A black X for the elderly Mrs. Khouri. A black X for the neighbor’s baby, born with a weak heart. Black X’s for the kids from the school who struggle, who can’t behave. A black X for those who use alcohol or drugs to excess. A black X for troublemakers._

_But there is no X for him._

_Strong and solid and handsome and smart._

_He watches the ones in the grey coveralls separate the ones with the black X’s._

_No one is quite sure what is happening yet. They are moved to the other end of the town. Where the grain elevators stand, where the food processing plant is, where the slaughterhouse is. There is a new fence around the area._

_Panic begins to set in._

_The screams begin. People cry out for their parents, their children, their husbands, wives, sisters, brothers, lovers, friends._

_They are drowned out by the loudspeakers._

_A rich baritone. Diction perfect._

“ _...your lives mean slow death for more valued members of the colony...”_

_The more valued members. Some of the more valued members try to climb the fence, only to be repelled by the stunners, bodies hitting bodies as they fall._

_Those inside the fence are herded into the disintegrator. The process is painless. Humane. The best will live. The rest will die._

_The ones in the grey coveralls threaten to bring in loved ones from the other side of the fence. It gets them the cooperation of many. Weapons convince those who still refuse._

_He is on his hands and knees. The gravel digs and cuts through the thin fabric of his sleeping pants, digs and cuts into his unprotected palms. He has vomited. It is nothing but bile. He feels relief at not having wasted food._

_How long will you stay?_

_One more week. Their distress call was picked up by an Orion trader and relayed to all points. Ships from Vulcan, Andoria, and Coridan answer the call._

_The governor had not expected aliens to help them._

_How long how long how long. The rhythmic thrum of the engines. It hums along his nerves, seeps up through his spine, vibrates his brain. It is his evening lullaby and morning birdsong._

“ _How long will you stay?” she asks. His lover and his prison. “Prison?” she laughs. “Go, if you want. Go. I will be here when you come back._

“ _How long will you stay away? What woman can give you what I can? Can they give you power or the stars? Your friends love me and stay with me. How long will you be gone? Come back, come home. Let me help you. Let me show you your best self.”_

“ _You lived!” says his mother, hands on his face, tears in her eyes._

“ _You lived,” says Rand, hands on his face, a smile on her lips._

“ _But why did I live?”_

“ _For me for me for me,” hums the ship. His ship._

“ _To be my best self?” he thinks. Does his life prove Kodos right? That his life is worth more?_

_Does it prove him wrong? That their lives were not worth less? That no lives are worthless._

“ _My love my love my love,” she thrums. “We will save a hundred, a thousand, for every one that he killed.”_

_His right hand touches plastic. His left hand touches flesh. Through the right hand he feels love and possessiveness. Through his left he feels compassion and acceptance._

_He falls._

_How long? He doesn’t know._

_He is aware now of sun-warmed earth at his back. He is lying in a meadow and the sun is going down. The stars wink into existence. There is a hand in his. Order, affection, and welcome._ ]

“What did I just see?” asked Kirk. He took a chance on opening his eyes. It was less disconcerting now, although he could still see and feel the meadow and the stars as well.

“Memories, mostly,” said Spock. “They can be intense and… surreal in a mind untrained for the experience, particularly if there are strong emotions associated with them.” [ _reassurance_ ]

“And what am I seeing now?”

“An attempt at a comforting space.” [ _I am this, I brought you back to me_ ]

“It’s nice, Spock. [ _reassurance, affection, thanks_ ]

Kirk withdrew his hand and Spock felt the connection fade. Kirk picked up his cold tea and finished it, partly because his mouth was dry, and partly for something to do.

“Are you alright?” Kirk asked.

“I am perfectly well. Did you find what you sought?”

“I don’t know. It feels like a significant insight. What would a Vulcan do in this situation?”

“Meditate.”

“Naturally,” said Kirk, his mouth twisting wryly.

“Perhaps, right now, sleep would be best.”

“I believe you’ve hit the nail on the head, Spock.” Kirk stood and stretched out the kinks from sitting too long. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” said Spock.

 

 

“I’m making eggs. Want some?”

It turned out that McCoy could only cook about two dozen things, but he sure could cook those two dozen things and scrambled eggs were on that list. Kirk had no idea what he did to them, but they were always perfectly soft and billowy.

“I’d love some.” Kirk’s hair was still damp from the shower, and he was adjusting the buckle at the side of his shirt. Over the years, Kirk had worn a lot of uniforms, but his favorite had been the green, wrap-around command shirt. Most of his civilian shirts were a variation of that style. This one was light brown.

McCoy added some more eggs and cream to the handled bowl on the counter.

“Where’s Spock?” asked Kirk.

“He had an early morning meeting at Headquarters.” McCoy seasoned the eggs, then set the skillet on the stove to heat. He gestured toward the bread.

Kirk put a couple of slices in the toaster, and proceeded to tell McCoy about his experience with Spock the night before while McCoy cooked. By the time he had explained everything, they were seated in the dining area, having breakfast.

“Your experiences, the things you witnessed on Tarsus IV, are certainly traumatic enough to have life-long consequences. I think you should talk to a counselor.”

“I thought that’s what I was doing, Bones.”

“Nope. Not this time.” McCoy set his fork down and leaned toward Kirk. “This is out of my depth, Jim.”

Kirk started to protest, but McCoy cut him off. “I can explain why the resident Vulcan is doing that thing (even before I was sleeping with him), or what to expect from the inhabitants of the Arcadian star system. I can make a preliminary diagnosis of space madness or a mood disorder. I can tell when the C.O. needs a break. But counseling's a whole ‘nother ball game.

“As your friend, I’m happy to provide a shoulder to cry on, a sympathetic ear, someone to tell you when you’ve gotten too big for your britches – but, as your doctor, I’m telling you that you need to see someone qualified and objective. I’m not either of those things.”

“You’ve been thinking about this.”

“Ever since I noticed you getting antsy again.” McCoy picked up his fork and dug into his eggs.

 

 

Life in the Marin County apartment was… well, “optimistic” was the word that would come to McCoy’s mind later, when he thought about those days.

McCoy was preparing to start his duties at the Starfleet Medical Academy in the fall. He was already giving guest lectures.

Kirk kept up a fairly busy schedule, although he seemed much less driven about it. He took McCoy’s advice and started seeing a counselor.

Spock continued to travel wherever the Federation sent him. Since he was also a qualified pilot, they assigned him one of the new _Superior_ -class ships, the _Yuron_. Also known as runabouts, they used the same hull as a spacedock ferry, but they had a warp drive and could accommodate up to five persons on short excursions.

Spock was often on Vulcan these days, as the work on his house there was nearly finished.

It was an old house – nearly six centuries old – but Vulcans build with an eye toward longevity. Although the house had stood empty for some years, it had required very little repair. Most of the renovations had centered around making the house into a space that Spock hoped would feel like a home to McCoy.

Spock had chosen this dwelling because of its unusually large interior courtyard. Today he and his mother were planting the garden there.

“Leonard’s going to love this,” said Amanda. It was she who had cared for these plants over the years, keeping them in her own private garden. Now they were planting them in the raised and terraced beds that workers had installed on Spock’s instruction. It was a pleasant occupation, particularly because it was shared.

“I am grateful for your assistance, and for the care that you have given these plants,” said Spock. He was working on a small bed of culinary herbs. These were the only plants that had not originated with McCoy.

“Believe me, I’ve already taken cuttings of my favorites in payment,” she said. “My son-in-law has excellent taste in flowers.”

“Indeed.”

“This is all very like him.” She removed one of her gloves to touch a soft pink blossom. “Such a courtly gesture.”

“It is more than that,” said Spock. “It is a gesture he felt confident that I would understand and appreciate, and it was done quietly, without demand.”

“And this,” her hand fluttered at the mostly-planted garden, “is a gesture that he will understand and appreciate?”

“That is my hope, madam.” He knew that she was studying him with that amused smile on her face, the one that made her eyes shine bright, but she merely drew her glove on and went back to work.

When McCoy saw the garden, a few weeks later, he stood in the middle of it and turned a slow circle.

“I thought our deal was that you were supposed to NOT be romantic,” said McCoy.

“I never agreed to that stipulation.”

McCoy kissed him, warm and sweet.

[ _why?_ ]

“We have a home on Earth,” said Spock, “but I wish for this to also be our home.”

[ _I want you to feel as if you belong here_ ]

“All I need is you and a bed to sleep on, Spock. And I could probably squeak by without the bed. Just you and a reasonably sturdy flat surface.”

[ _gratitude affection devotion_ ]

“Are you..?”

“There’s something in my eye,” said McCoy, drawing Spock back toward him for another kiss.

"There is a very sturdy flat surface at the other end of the garden," said Spock.

When they had returned to Earth, Kirk had set the containers of plants that Spock had left with him out on the balcony. There was a huge abelia shrub, a Betazed starveil with a trellis for it to climb, and smaller pots of French lavender and crystilia.

McCoy scowled in a way that did nothing to disguise his delight. “Don’t leave the door open,” McCoy said. “The place will smell like a Risan pleasure house.” He proceeded to keep the door open almost constantly whenever he was at home.

They settled into a life together. Kirk got a small table and a couple of chairs for the balcony. He worked his way through McCoy’s library. McCoy made dinner on the rare evenings when the three of them were all together.

There was morning coffee outdoors and late night conversations in the comfy chairs flanking the fireplace.

The news confirming the imminent launch of an _Excelsior_ -class _Enterprise_ appeared to be met with pleasure by Kirk. He even agreed to tour the ship and ride along on its maiden cruise around the solar system.

“Are you sure that’s such a great idea, Jim?” asked McCoy as he poured them both glasses of Tennessee whiskey.

“You’re not my counselor, remember?” Kirk took the glass and winked at McCoy.

“Point taken,” said McCoy, raising his own glass in Kirk’s direction before taking a sip.

They took seats near the fireplace. It was their usual spot, even if it was too warm for a fire tonight.

“Alright,” said Kirk, “Maybe I’m a little bit... shaken up. It’s going to bug me, knowing it’s out there. I just want to face it and get it over with.”

“Makes sense.”

“I wish you or Spock could be there though. I’d rest easier knowing I had someone to administer a hypospray of sedatives or a Vulcan nerve pinch if I start hugging the captain’s chair and weeping.”

“I’m sure Scotty and Chekov can manage you,” said McCoy.

“Are you kidding? I’ll have my hands full trying to keep Scotty from weeping and hugging the main engineering console.”

“You know you’re really making me sorry I’m going to miss it.”

It had been nearly two weeks since Spock had left for Khitomer again (The conference was finally drawing to a close.), but he would be coming back to Vulcan on the same day that Kirk was scheduled to tour the _Enterprise-_ B _._ McCoy was going to meet him there. Kirk would be visiting them after the cruise, before heading to Andoria.

“I’ll tell you about my exciting trip all the way to Pluto and back when I get to Vulcan,” said Kirk.

 

The house in the ShiKahr District on Vulcan was finished. In addition to the garden, Spock had added bookcases and an actual couch to the décor for McCoy’s comfort. He had also installed an environmental control with an option to enrich the atmosphere within the house and gardens.

It was evening, and McCoy and Spock were in the central area. Spock was finishing some correspondence and McCoy was re-reading _The Left Hand of Darkness_ when the door chime sounded. McCoy set his book down.

“It can’t be Jim already. I didn’t think he’d get here for a few more hours, at least,” he said, getting up and going to the door.

It was Scotty.

And the look on his face said that something terrible had occurred.

McCoy ushered him into the main room of the house. Spock stood up from his desk and stepped down into the seating area.

“Mr. Scott, are you well? Do you need something?”

“I’m… I’m fine Mr. Spock. Thank you.” He looked from Spock to McCoy and back. “I came here as fast as I could. I didn’t want you to hear this from strangers.”

“Scotty?” McCoy whispered, dread coiling in his gut. “What is it?”

“There was an incident this afternoon, during the maiden voyage of the _Enterprise-_ B. Captain Kirk is dead.”

McCoy shook his head. “Dead? How? That can’t be...”

“Mr. Scott, perhaps you should sit down and tell us what happened.”

One of Spock’s aides came to the doorway to see if their visitor required anything. “Bring Mr. Scott a glass of water, please, Tellek,” said Spock.

Scotty took the chair nearest to where he happened to be standing. McCoy and Spock seated themselves on a bench opposite him.

“She should never have left the yards. No tractor beam, no photon torpedoes, no medical staff.”

Tellek came back with the water and Spock dismissed him for the night.

Scotty told them the whole tale – the energy ribbon, the trapped ships (“Full of refugees! Those poor people. We could only save forty-seven!”), and the _Enterprise_ itself caught in the gravimetric distortion.

“We were ill-equipped to handle it. I suggested that the navigational deflector could simulate the effect of a torpedo blast, try to knock us free. Captain Kirk went down to make the modifications.”

Scotty stopped and sipped his water before continuing.

“Afterwards, we couldn’t raise him on the com. There was extensive hull damage in the area. When we went to look for him… The hole was huge. It spanned three decks. The force field must not have come up in time to keep him from being... He was the _Enterprise_ -B’s only casualty.”

Scotty was given one of the guest bedrooms for the night. The three of them would be taking the _Yuron_ to Earth in the morning.

In their own room, Spock and McCoy stripped down to their underwear and climbed into bed.

Spock wrapped his arms around McCoy and pulled him on top of himself.

In the darkness, bodies pressed close for comfort, they wept.

 

 

It was a beautiful day, and they held the memorial service outdoors in a grassy area of the Presidio, near Starfleet Headquarters. Representatives of over a hundred worlds were there, plus nearly two thousand servicemen and women. One of the admirals spoke, detailing Kirk’s accomplishments during his years of service.

McCoy delivered the eulogy.

“I met James Kirk the day I joined Starfleet. I had just completed all of my tests and been thoroughly examined by Starfleet Medical. I’d signed on the dotted line, so to speak, and decided to spend my last night of freedom, as so many choose to spend that last night of freedom, at a bar.

“He introduced himself as Lieutenant James T. Kirk – future captain of the _Enterprise_.

“How could I resist an opening like that? His girlfriend was otherwise engaged that evening and I had just come off a bad break-up which may or may not have precipitated my entrance into Starfleet. So we spent the evening drinking bourbon and talking about the future.

“I told him I was soon to be a ship’s surgeon. He immediately started calling me ‘Sawbones.’

“I asked him why the _Enterprise_. He said because it was named after Jonathan Archer’s ship.

“‘So you want to be as famous as Jonathan Archer?’ I asked.

“‘I want to do as much good as Jonathan Archer,’ he said.

“Years later, when he had taken command of the _Enterprise_ , and my nickname had been shortened to just ‘Bones,’ he asked me to serve with him as his Chief Medical Officer.

“Of course I said yes. How could I resist an opportunity like that? An opportunity to do the most good.

“Jim Kirk never refused an opportunity to do the most good – even when it was difficult, even when it was impossible, even when it meant great personal sacrifice.

“That he died in service to others can be no surprise to those who knew him.

“Those who served with Captain Kirk saw his strength and his intelligence, qualities that he used to find a peaceful solution more often than not. We saw his professionalism, and his fairness, and his commitment to protecting his ship and his crew, and it reminded us of the seriousness of our own duties.

“And those who were closest to him saw the sacrifices, large and small, that he made for the most good, for the mission, for us. We would have followed him anywhere.

“We did follow him anywhere.

“On our last night aboard the _Enterprise_ , he said that a captain is only as great as his crew. If we were great, it was because we had our captain to lead us and to show us, through his own actions and through his wit and courage and integrity, how to do the most good.”

A chaplain said a suitably agnostic benediction. There was an honor guard. McCoy noted that Anniki Koskinen was in it and that she had made Lieutenant Commander.

Julia was there, and Somek as well. It seemed that a large portion of the crowd were people who had trained on the _Enterprise_. He saw Amahle Dlamini talking to Scotty, and Saavik with Hikaru Sulu.

Spock made a point of speaking to Demora Sulu, telling her that he had seen the report of the incident on the _Enterprise-_ B and that he thought she had acquitted herself well.

The El-Aurian refugees sent a representative, a woman named Melira. Sarek and Amanda were there, both as official representatives of Vulcan and because of their personal connection. Kirk’s nephew, Peter, was there with his new bride. Carol Marcus came, and McCoy was sure that someone mentioned the name “Antonia,” but he never saw her.

All of the old crew were there, of course. Janice Rand had also been a member of the honor guard with Chekov and Sulu. Uhura, Doctor Chapel – even Kevin Riley showed up.

To McCoy, the whole thing was a blur, and he was glad when it was over. The same could be said of the week before, as well. It had fallen to him and Spock to sort through Kirk’s belongings and bestow or discard them, although Uhura and Scotty had helped as well. They were aided in the task by a data file that Kirk had left behind, detailing where he wanted most of his stuff to go.

It wasn’t the only file he'd left.

McCoy found the holofile in a wooden box with a picture of the HMS _Enterprize_ carved into the top. It was labeled, "to Bones and Spock, after I’m gone."

They watched it the night before the memorial service.

“I don’t know why I’m making this recording. I made one about a year after I took command of the _Enterprise_ , just in case something happened to me. Now the _Enterprise_ will be decommissioned in a year, so maybe it just seems fitting.

"In that first recording, which I know damn well you watched, I told you to listen to each other, to lean on each other.

"I don’t need to tell you that now.

"I just need to tell you, ‘thank you.’ Thank you for listening. Thank you for letting me lean on you. Thank you for years of support and loyalty and advice – even the advice I didn’t want. My best friends. My family. I love you guys.”

Spock slept as he had since the night Mr. Scott had brought them the news of Kirk’s death, with McCoy’s body pulled halfway on top of his own. He was comforted by McCoy’s weight pressing him to the bed, anchoring him. He wrapped both of his arms around McCoy as if McCoy might otherwise drift away.

On that first night, they had knelt together in the midst of a storm of grief, but since then, McCoy’s internal landscape had been as smooth and grey and heavy as a stone. It worried Spock, and he had insisted that McCoy have his implant checked. It was found to be functioning within expected parameters.

McCoy had written an appropriate eulogy. It had moved those attending the memorial, but it didn’t seem to move McCoy.

They had watched Kirk’s last message to them. McCoy had looked at Spock, but Spock couldn’t read his expression.

McCoy let Spock into his mind whenever Spock requested it, but the featureless grey offered no insights. There was no emotion there beyond a dull pain.

Spock suggested that they go to Vulcan. McCoy agreed without asking why.

 

“Human emotions still puzzle me.”

Spock had decided to consult the only other Human in whose wisdom and discretion he placed enough confidence to divulge something so private.

“They can be complex,” agreed Amanda.

“He suffers. I can feel it, but I don’t know how to overcome this… blankness. It wasn’t like this when David McCoy died.”

“What do you usually do when confronted with emotions you don’t understand?”

“I go to McCoy.”

“Then go to him now.”

“I don’t wish to burden him further.”

“There’s your first insight.” Amanda smiled gently.

“You believe that he is attempting to ignore his own emotions because he does not wish to add to my grief?”

“I think that might be part of it. Isn’t that consistent with what you know about him?”

“He has been known to go to extraordinary lengths to spare others. I had hoped that we had come to an understanding about it.”

Amanda lifted her eyebrows expectantly.

“We have spoken about the effects of such actions,” said Spock.

“By ‘such actions’ I assume you’re referring to your mutual tendency toward self-sacrifice.”

“I adhere to a philosophy. Leonard rarely requires a logical reason for his behavior.”

“You two _are_ a pair,” she said, shaking her head. “My child, you have both suffered a great loss. You’re grieving. Go be with him. Leonard won’t keep his heart from you for long. Don’t keep yours from him.”

 

When Spock got home, McCoy was in the inner courtyard, seated on the garden bench. He was wearing Vulcan garb – a sand colored tunic and trousers and a deep plum robe – and leaning back against the wall, eyes closed against the setting sun that had not quite sunk low enough to leave his face in shadow. He had kicked off his boots and was twirling a dead leaf plucked from the nah’ru vine growing nearby.

Spock had requested that his aides stay away for a few days, so the house was otherwise empty.

Spock seated himself on the ground between McCoy’s feet, his back to the warm stone. He curled his fingers around McCoy’s ankle and left his mind open, receptive, waiting for McCoy to seek him out.

McCoy combed his fingers through Spock’s hair. The sensation was soothing – a steady light scrape of fingernails against his scalp, followed by his hair falling from McCoy’s fingertips as it slipped almost back into place. Gradually, he became aware of the feeling of the silky strands against his own fingers.

“I thought your eulogy was quite effective.”

[ _slight_ _warmth_ ] “I’m glad you liked it.”

“I was reminded of when Jim first took command of the _Enterprise_. [ _listening_ ] I was gratified when he asked me to be his First Officer, though it wasn’t entirely unexpected. I was the highest-ranking member of the senior command staff, and I had served on the _Enterprise_ for eleven years.

“I was curious to know how he would fill the other posts. He promoted Uhura to head of Communications. He brought you and Mr. Scott from other assignments.

“I couldn’t understand by which criteria he had chosen us. Mr. Scott was highly qualified. He was already an accomplished engineer at the time, but he seemed rather prone to… drama. Uhura was very young and untested, and she engaged in unnecessary conversations. You called the captain by a diminutive, you shouted, you berated, and you used indecipherable colloquialisms.”

“You seemed to understand me just fine.”

“I learned more about Human idioms in the first three months of our acquaintance than I had in nearly twenty years of previous immersion in Human culture.”

“Well, at least I was educational.”

“I soon realized that Jim had a gift for finding excellence. Mr. Scott, despite some minor eccentricities, was easily the best engineer serving in Starfleet. Uhura was a brilliant and dedicated Communications Officer. She was eager to acquire any skill that would serve her work. She believed in the value of establishing a rapport with those around her. It is a quality that I have always admired in her.

“And there was you.”

“I wondered when we’d get to me,” said McCoy.

“You were temperamental, emotional, and what’s more you were irrationally attached to your emotionalism. But your ability to logically assess a situation, your single-minded pursuit of solutions when all around you is chaos, your stubborn refusal to abandon anyone in need, make you the most effective healer, Human or Vulcan, that I have ever encountered.

“I realized that Jim was assembling the best crew possible,” said Spock, “and that he had chosen me to be part of it.

“It became my intention to prove him justified in that choice. Even when I chose to pursue _kohlinar_ , part of my object was to be a better First Officer – to no longer disrupt the operation of the ship with my emotional outbursts.”

[ _pain, loneliness, shame, loss_ ] McCoy had stopped touching Spock’s hair. His hands were now resting on Spock’s shoulders.

“You were an outstanding First Officer, Spock. Steady, dependable, wise.”

“Wise? May I remind you, I nourished a viper in my bosom. She very nearly cost both you and Jim your lives.”

[ _her mind, so weak yet so sure of her logic, she had never doubted her gifts, she had expected him to see and to praise her,_ _billions of lives nearly lost, his friend and his husband, she betrayed them into death, he had trusted her because she had talent and intelligence,_ _because she was Vulcan,_ _he had not seen what lay in her heart_ ]

“You’re not responsible for the actions that Valeris took of her own free will. Jim and I lived because you never gave up on either of us. You were there for us. How many times have you refused to let either of us die?”

[ _Sarpeidon,_ _the_ Defiant, _Minara II_

 _Yosemite, I’ve always known… I’ll die alone_ ]

Spock knelt up, turned to look at McCoy, cupped McCoy’s face in his hands.

“Leonard...”

[ _pain,_ _Kirk’s body, blown into space,_ _regret_ ]

“He was alone,” said McCoy. “I should’ve gone with him.”

“Illogical. There’s nothing you could have done.”

“I could’ve not left him alone.”

[ _he wouldn’t have been alone, he wouldn’t have died because he wouldn’t have been alone_ ]

"Presentiment has no basis in reality.”

McCoy’s tears slipped around and over Spock’s fingers.

“I know that, Spock. Of course I know that.”

[ _anger like the slash of a knife, Kirk and his_ _shortsighted_ _choice of words, how dare he say such a thing and then abandon them_ ]

“Illogical, yourself.”

At McCoy’s words, the emotion burned out as quickly as it had flared.

Spock put his arms around McCoy’s waist and pulled him close. He laid his cheek against McCoy’s sternum. McCoy returned the embrace – an arm around Spock’s shoulders, a hand cradling his head.

[ _fear, tenderness, sorrow, affection, gratitude, grief_

_and loss_

_like something heavy has been cut away from their center, their hearts, leaving them unbalanced_ _and stumbling_

 _it’s overwhelming_ ]

“We’ll get through this,” said McCoy.

“How?” asked Spock.

[ _kindness, patience, compassion_ ]

“Mule-headed refusal to give up.”

Spock couldn’t help it. After so many strong and conflicting emotions, he just collapsed into dry laughter at McCoy’s… McCoy-ness.

McCoy was laughing too.

Spock looked up at him. “Come to bed and make love with me.”

[ _need_ _, skin, hands, weight, warmth,_ _comfort,_ _you_ ]

“Okay.”

Spock stood and took McCoy by the hand. He lead him to their bedroom. McCoy stood in the room while Spock walked around, lighting the variety of candles and lamps. The room was simple, austere, with almost no decoration beyond these little lights which sat on shelves attached to the walls. One wall was made up of dark wooden panels that concealed closets and drawers. The other walls were the color of dry sand. The only furniture was a large bed with a grey-violet spread that was embroidered with a Vulcan myth in ancient script, and an armless upholstered chair.

When Spock finished with the lights, he pulled the bed cover back and took a moment to center himself. They were still connected, and McCoy could sense his supplication for peace and healing.

Spock removed his clothes – simple black Vulcan attire – and laid them neatly across the chair. Spock’s nudity was a sight that never failed to move McCoy, but tonight, it was more than Spock’s beauty and sexual charm – he was acutely aware of the _katra_ that filled and animated Spock’s body. When he came near enough, McCoy reached out a hand, and touched the fluttering pulse at the notch between Spock’s clavicles.

[ _McCoy touches each symbol in turn, concept, discipline, process, they adorn the robe that he and Saavik have just put on Spock’s ravaged body_

 _McCoy sits vigil over Spock’s body again_ _in the same robe_ _, in the_ _medbay of a Klingon warship, concept, discipline, process_ ]

Spock undid the three pins holding McCoy’s robe closed. He slid his hands inside and folded it back, touching his lips to the spot just to the side of his larynx.

[ _pulse steady and strong and warm against his mouth_

 _McCoy’s body beaten and broken,_ _t_ _he pulse under his fingertips rapid and weak, McCoy’s death is inevitable, his organs are_ _shattered_ _and failing_ ]

Spock slid the robe from McCoy’s shoulders and laid it over his own on the chair.

He raised both of McCoy’s hands in turn and kissed them, palm up, starting at the base of the ring finger, pausing for a flickering lick on the wrist, and ending at the crook of his elbow.

He pulled the soft under-tunic over McCoy’s head and placed his hand over McCoy’s heart.

“Death has always been around us,” said Spock. “I have died and you’ve been a breath from it. We have taken chances. We’ve saved each other. We are alive, here and now, and the danger is no greater than it ever was. Indeed it is less so.”

McCoy looked down at Spock’s hand, flat against his chest. It was a well-reasoned argument, he had to admit. He put his arms around Spock, one around his waist, his hand reaching for the spot at the lowest edge of Spock’s rib cage where he could feel the rapid beat of Spock’s heart. The other arm he rested on Spock’s shoulder, his hand wrapping around the back of Spock’s skull.

[ _waves, rolling and roiling, the old sick fear, he has already accepted it so many times it should be easy, three_ _lode_ _stars penetrate the gloom,_ _he watches them, steady and beautiful, and the waves subside_ ]

McCoy kissed Spock. [ _attentive and aware_ ] He tasted him and breathed him in. [ _here and now, together_ ]

McCoy could feel Spock’s hands at his waistband, sliding the fasteners free. Spock slid his hands over McCoy’s hips, pushing his pants and underwear down. McCoy stepped out of them and lay down on the bed. Spock pulled McCoy’s socks off and joined him.

Lying together, naked in the warm night, they proceeded to create a space for solace. [ _the sea is dark as bruises, hematomata that will take time to heal, sorrow and loss, regret,_ _but here where their bodies touch the breast of the sea, is affection_ _is acceptance is renewal._ ]

They lay on their sides, bodies pressed together, legs tangled. McCoy’s head was pillowed on Spock’s arm. They touched each other carefully, reassuring themselves of each other's strength, their presence, their durability. Kisses followed, soft and wet [ _the sky brightens almost imperceptibly as more stars appear_ ], then building in urgency. [ _passion_ _and longing, familiar and welcome_ ]

McCoy wanted, but couldn’t name it. His thoughts were never this chaotic when it came to sex. He had always known exactly what he desired.

“You have been disconnected from your emotions.” Spock pointed out.

“Is there something you want, then?” asked McCoy, giving up.

“To be the instrument of your pleasure.”

“That’s… quite an invitation.”

“Leonard,” Spock’s voice was quiet as he stroked McCoy’s cheek, “what do you want?”

[ _images and sensations pile into his mind, Spock’s mouth on the nape of his neck, hands on his nipples, his cock, he wants to be surrounded, taken, overwhelmed, the force of it steals his breath_ ]

“This then?” Spock sent an image to McCoy’s mind.

“Yes, please.”

Spock pressed a button at the head of the bead. A panel slid up, revealing a niche in the wall a few inches above the pillows. Spock retrieved a vial of oil and a small towel from it.

“Sit up.” Spock supplied another image.

McCoy complied, kneeling in the middle of the bed with his hands on his thighs, legs slightly apart.

Spock knelt behind McCoy and began. [ _he concentrates on the pleasure of simple touch at first but his hands soon find those points which leave the subject relaxed and sensitized_ ]

McCoy had a few such points.

There were two at the lowest point of each scapula. [ _diffuse, a warm pool of thick liquid spilling throughout his body, settling at the base of his spine_ ]

One was just above the C7 vertebra, at the base of his neck. [ _he is exquisitely aware of his own skin, the texture of the linen_ _on which he kneels_ _, the warmth of his hands on his thighs, Spock’s fingers splayed across the curve of his neck_ ]

At L3, at the waist, was a spot that aided relaxation of the muscles of the pelvic floor.

And on either side of the sacrum. [ _the pleasure coiled low in his body unwinds itself, radiates through his genitals,_ _e_ _rection_ _s_ _twitch as more blood tries to push in_ ]

Spock distributed light kisses across McCoy’s shoulders [ _delicate and quick_ ] as he moved to kneel by McCoy’s side. He warmed a bit more of the oil in one hand.

Spock positioned his other hand on the lower part of McCoy’s breastbone. McCoy leaned into it, relying on Spock’s strength rather than his own to keep him balanced. [ _yielding,_ _hovering off-kilter,_ _suspended by trust in muscle in sinew in the hand on his heart,_ _waiting_ ]

Spock placed his oiled fingers at the tip of McCoy’s coccyx and slid them forward until the longest one was seated deep in McCoy’s body. [ _engulfing, receptive, welcom_ _ing_ ]

Spock twisted the hand that was inside McCoy, and rubbed a minute, gentle circle across his prostate. McCoy cried out. [ _bliss,_ _surrender, faith_ ]

“Music,” whispered Spock, repeating the movement. [ _McCoy pliant and trusting in his hands, under his care_ ]

McCoy felt no urgency to maintain control, having ceded it entirely to Spock. He simply allowed the pleasure to roll through him in waves as Spock added a second and, eventually, a third finger.

[ _the_ _stretch and pull of muscle, the exertion of strength,_ _as McCoy grows softer and more receptive, Spock grows_ _more_ _tender and giving_ ]

Spock removed his fingers.

“You must hold yourself for a moment.” McCoy’s muscles tightened, then, as he took his own weight on his arms.

McCoy watched, enthralled, as Spock oiled himself. He closed his eyes when Spock knelt behind him, and placed the tip of his cock against his entrance. There was a pause as Spock wiped his hand on the towel, then he held McCoy’s hips and slid his penis halfway into the warm clasp of McCoy’s body. [ _the vision and the sensation are captivating_ ]

He bent around McCoy’s back, pressing his cheek between McCoy’s shoulder blades. Then he wrapped his arms around McCoy’s shoulders and pulled him back and up until they both knelt upright on the bed, McCoy’s spine pressed against Spock’s chest, his legs wide and bent around Spock’s legs. [ _splayed, open,_ _held, secured_ ]

Spock didn’t thrust, but he stroked McCoy’s skin wherever he could reach – arms and shoulders, throat, belly, chest, nipples, inner thighs (stretched taut in this position), hips, and penis.

[ _Spock’s mind is a sounding board reflecting and amplifying McCoy’s sensations, adding his own pleasure at feeling McCoy’s body against his own, adding the luxury of McCoy’s skin against his palms his fingers, adding the_ _lush_ _pulling_ _heat_ _gripping_ _his_ _cock_ _._

 _t_ _here_ _is_ _an acute satisfaction to using his disciplined mind this way and to the way in which McCoy revel_ _s_ _in it,_ _the way he trusts Spock, t_ _he way_ _he accepts_ _his affection and his care_ ]

McCoy felt Spock’s lips against the back of his neck, tasted the salt on the tip of Spock’s tongue. [ _suck, mark me_ ] Spock did as he was asked, and McCoy gasped at the sensation of Spock’s sharp teeth and heated mouth on his skin.

[ _so close, Spock’s control is slipping,_ _stumbling_ _, falling_ ]

Spock took McCoy’s cock in his hand, and with his other hand pressed against McCoy’s breastbone, he thrust.

[ _sparks and stars, plummet_ _ing, unmoored untethered to anything except each other as they tumble through space,_ _the rush of blood like wind in their ears_ ]

McCoy laced his fingers between the fingers of Spock's hand over his heart and held on tight.

[ _he follows Spock willingly eagerly as Spock falls toward_ _sweetness and oblivion and bliss,_ _and the ocean dark and broken rises to meet them_

 _they are free and floating for a brief eternity before gravity reasserts itself and their bodies once again have weight_ ]

They rested for a few moments, catching their breath. Spock kissed the bruise he had left on McCoy’s neck, and McCoy hummed a little with pleasure and contentment. [ _the sea stills, warms,_ _home and shelter, familiarity, hope_ ]

“Shower?” asked Spock, finally.

“Definitely.”

They disentangled themselves with just a few groans from McCoy. “I’m going to feel that in the morning,” he said, waving a hand in the general direction of everything below his navel.

After the shower, McCoy lay on his back, his head resting on Spock’s shoulder. Spock’s hand lay against his chest. He tugged gently at bit of McCoy’s chest hair.

[ _silver threads among the dark,_ _growing old together_ ]

“Jim wanted someone to grow old with,” said Spock.

“I know. We talked about it. A lot.”

“He sometimes resented that I had achieved what he had not. I saw it.”

[ _bewilderment,_ _sorrow_ ]

McCoy took Spock’s hand. “He loved you, Spock.”

“I wished to help him, but I could not.”

“He loved you, and he knew you loved him.” McCoy repeated. “Even if his emotions were messy sometimes, you were always his dearest friend.”

“ _We_ were his dearest friends,” said Spock, kissing McCoy’s temple.

[ _he also loved you_ ]

McCoy squeezed Spock’s hand.

“Everything reminds me of his absence,” said Spock.

“Me too.”

 

***

 

“We celebrated _pon farr_ two months later. It brought some measure of peace,” said Spock.

[ _ritual and mystery, the life of the planet below them the universe around them flowing in the rhythm of a dirge, the rising of new life replaced by death and decay and the waiting seed, ‘_ _it_ _is all one’ whispers the seed the planet the universe, bring death to this place this ceremony, come together in sorrow and grief, and know that you will feel the life rise again,_ _we are stars and hope and love and life, we are eternal_ ]

They sat awhile, lost in memories from over seventy years ago, until Spock felt McCoy’s mind slipping away from his. He looked. McCoy was nearly asleep in his arms.

“Leonard, you’re exhausted.”

McCoy opened his eyes [ _blue like the skies of Earth_ ] and smiled weakly at Spock. “You’re right. I should sleep before dinner.”

Spock stood and scooped McCoy up from the bench. He carried him the short distance to their bedroom, placed him on the bed, and helped him off with his jacket and shoes.

“Do you require medication?”

“I should be good to go. I’ll buzz you on the com if I need anything,” said McCoy.

Spock held out his first two fingers. “Sleep well, husband.”

McCoy returned the touch. “Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you didn't want to read about the mass murder and ableism, here is a synopsis of what occurs in the telepathic communication shared by Kirk and Spock.
> 
> Spock and Kirk share a series of dream-like memories and visions of both the Enterprise and of the mass murder that took place on Tarsus IV. It is clear that Kirk feels responsible to the murdered to remain in a position to save others and that the Enterprise has come to embody that compulsion.
> 
> Kirk "falls" away from this vision and finds himself in a quiet meadow at sundown. Spock explains that he has created this landscape in an effort to comfort Kirk. Kirk accepts this kindness and ends the mental contact between them.


	9. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life after the _Enterprise_ requires a few adjustments.
> 
>  
> 
> Note -- There is a brief surgical scene in this chapter. It isn't graphic in any way, but may still inspire a big "Nope" for some people. If you want to avoid it, skip the first three paragraphs of the scene that starts with "Spock and Dukarra sat in the gallery of the operating theater..."

McCoy appeared to be better rested the next day, although Spock noticed that he was being careful not to expend too much energy and tire himself. They ate _plomeek_ broth for breakfast. They puttered in the garden. Spock meditated. McCoy re-read James Blish’s _Beep_. They shared a plate of vegetable pot stickers for lunch. It was a morning like thousands of others before it.

McCoy gave himself a dose of tri-ox compound before meeting Spock in the garden. They settled into their accustomed positions.

Spock was content to hold McCoy for the moment, feeling McCoy’s slight weight against his body. He stroked McCoy’s hand, tracing the knots of his veins and brushing his faintly widened fingertips.

[ _these hands have held and healed and stroked him, he has seen them clenched in fists, bent in pain, and open in invitation, he has touched these fingers in a ritual of affection of unity_ _of reconciliation, so many touches, incalculable, the past accumulates behind him,_ _a mountain of mass and weight_ _, the future seems like a handful of sand, he draws the present out and out and out through their fingertips_ ]

“There’s a lot left to get through,” said McCoy, gently.

“Indeed,” said Spock. “Tell me about Dr. Thelles. By the time I met him, you and he were already well-acquainted.”

“You were gone a lot in those first few months after I started teaching.”

“I had already begun investigating the possibility of a sixth conspirator in the death of Chancellor Gorkon, and then there was the search for clues to the disappearance of Captain Scott, in addition to my duties as an ambassador.”

“Scotty,” murmured McCoy. [ _a sickening sense of the vastness of space measured against the_ _brevity_ _and fragility of a single human life_ ]

Spock held McCoy closer, waiting for the emotion to pass.

“You were going to tell me about Jarin Thelles,” Spock reminded McCoy.

“Right. I’d gone to the Academy hospital to check out the sickbay simulations. I’d toured them a couple months before, but I wanted to familiarize myself with them, or maybe I just wanted to hang out in one particular sickbay and feel melancholy. Which is how Jarin found me. Even though Starfleet was done with the _Constitution_ -class ships, the _Miranda-_ and _Saladin_ -classes were still flying in those days, and they used the same sickbay. They’re eerie. Everything looks right, but there’s no hum from the engines.

“Anyway, I was thinking about Jim and how the old crew had finally broken apart when I heard a voice ask me if it felt familiar.

“I’d never met an Aenar before, or an Andorian of dual heritage." [ _he is_ _a_ _tall_ _man of middle years_ _and his skin is pale robin’s egg blue, his eyes are large and grey although the color is obscured by the purple-tinted glasses_ _that protect them_ _, he wears his long white hair in a fishtail braid down his back, his_ _expression is one of frank interest in_ _the words of_ _who_ _m_ _ever he is talking to, even his delicate antennae seem to add to his general air of attentiveness,_ _his voice is a soft lilting tenor_ ]

"We introduced ourselves. He told me he was a researcher and teacher specializing in telepathy studies. I’d read some of his papers. He’d read some of mine. We formed a mutual admiration society on the spot.

“He asked if I would mind letting him scan my brain for some research he was doing on non-telepaths who use telepathic communication.”

 

***

 

“May I ask what the implant is for?” asked Thelles. His antennae were pointed toward McCoy, although his eyes were still trained on the monitor next to the exam table.

“Does it have anything to do with your research?” asked McCoy.

Thelles looked directly at McCoy and smiled gently. “No,” he said.

“It treats anxiety and depression. I’ve had it for a little over twenty years now.”

Thelles turned his head slightly and pulled his ear forward to reveal the outline of a subdermal port. “Same. I got it almost fifteen years ago.”

Thelles turned his attention back to the readout. He tapped the screen a few times and a 3-D hologram of a brain popped up. “Do you see how these areas are lighting up?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said McCoy. “It’s what I’d expect in a telepath.”

“Humans are one species that learns to use telepathy easily. I’ve noticed a trend in such species. Most either had telepathic abilities once or, like Humans, they produce telepaths from time to time.”

McCoy pointed to another location on the model. “Nothing here, though.”

“No. That area is only developed in innate telepaths. You can learn the skills, but you can only use them with someone who naturally has the ability. May I test your skills?”

“Sure.”

“Think of an image. Try to keep me from seeing it. I won’t go any deeper than I need to in order to retrieve the image.”

“Alright.”

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

“A green leaf, edged in red, with water dripping off the tip. It’s very detailed. You’re good at images,” said Thelles.

McCoy laughed. “But lousy at keeping my thoughts to myself, apparently.”

Thelles smiled. “I doubt you’ve had much reason to learn how when you’re mostly in the company of touch telepaths. You don’t broadcast much, if that’s any consolation.”

“I was the day you met me, though. That’s how you knew I was hanging around a supposedly empty sickbay.”

“Yes, but emotion lends power to thought, even for non-telepaths, and telepaths can send over greater distances when they are experiencing strong feelings.”

“I’ve noticed that every time I’ve seen an occurrence of distance telepathy among Vulcans, it was either being done by someone who had chosen to embrace their emotions, or who was under such extreme pressure that they couldn’t control them.”

“It would be an intriguing area of study,” said Thelles. “I wonder if the ancient Vulcans had a more conventional form of telepathy?” He shook his head and chuckled. “You’re getting me sidetracked. Would you try to establish contact with me? Don’t worry about invading my privacy. I am quite good at shielding.”

“I’ll bet,” said McCoy. “I can try. Initiating Vulcan mind-touch is more about requesting connection than establishing it, and I’ve never done it without physical contact.”

“Just do what you normally would.”

McCoy thought of a new image, a poppy this time. He took Thelles’ hand and pushed the thought toward him. Nothing.

“May I touch your face?” McCoy asked.

Thelles nodded.

McCoy set his fingers on the meridians that led to the optical nerve, and pushed the image as hard as he could.

“I felt that,” said Thelles. “Please, try again.”

McCoy pushed the image one more time. He felt something like a barrier giving way.

“A red flower.”

McCoy took his hand away and grinned.

Thelles said, “It worked when I quit shielding. That’s never happened before with a non-telepath unless it was someone I had previously made frequent connections with. Did you see anything?”

“No,” said McCoy. “I wasn’t trying to, though. The mind-touch requires both participants to be actively giving and receiving.”

“Interesting. Let me try one more thing. I’m going to try to send you a suggestion. Block it.”

“Okay.”

McCoy felt a nudge at his mind, but refused it. He felt another, and another. He refused them both.

Thelles looked surprised.

“Well, I don’t think you ever need to worry about someone planting suggestions in your head. You kept me out no matter how hard I tried.”

“That’s one thing I made a point of learning how to do.”

 

“I haven’t much to convey. She and I had two classes together and resided in the same dormitory, but our interests and social circle differed,” said Saavik. She and Spock were aboard the USS _Potemkin_ , currently in orbit around Efrosia. Spock had taken the _Yuron_ to rendezvous with her there. They were sharing tea in her quarters. “Admiral Cartwright did give a series of lectures on tactics during that time. Valeris and I both attended them.”

“I am aware that they became acquainted then, and I know that Cartwright is the person who recruited her into the conspiracy,” said Spock. “However, I don’t know why Cartwright trusted her enough to take her into his confidence, nor why she would have trusted him. Their association was not a familiar one.”

“You believe that there may be another conspirator, someone who would have felt assured about Valeris?”

“It is a strong possibility.”

“She had a wide acquaintance, but her name was never associated with any individual as being someone with whom she was particularly close, except you, of course.”

Spock nodded. “It was, as they say on Earth, a long shot.”

 

“It’s absolutely the worst textbook I’ve ever seen,” said McCoy. They were having lunch – homemade tomato pie – on the balcony at McCoy’s apartment.

“Its usefulness is pretty limited,” agreed Thelles.

“Limited? The only way that _Extra-Terrestrial Physiology_ would be useful is if you printed it on paper. That way, you could burn it to keep yourself warm.”

Thelles laughed. “You should write a new one.”

“I’m going to,” said McCoy. “I’m sure I’m better-qualified. I’ve actually seen a Klingon in the last twenty years, which is more than I can say for one Dr. Horst Becker.”

“You’re more than qualified. Do you have the time though?”

“It’s hard to fill all of my time these days. I barely had time to eat and sleep on the _Enterprise_. Now, whenever Spock is gone for a long stretch, I just twiddle my thumbs.”

“You had many duties shipboard?”

“Oh, you kind of end up doing it all – from physicals to surgery, plus research. Hell, I restocked the dispensary and cleaned the exam tables sometimes. About the only thing that wasn’t expected of me was obstetrics, and I still managed to deliver the occasional baby.”

“It must have been exciting, though, being in the middle of things.”

“A little too exciting at times. I can’t say as I miss that kind of excitement. I loved the people I worked with, clearly. I mean, I married one of them. And the _Enterprise_ was home. I served aboard her for twenty-seven years. I saw things that I have a hard time believing I saw. But I don’t miss the danger, and I sure as hell don’t miss seeing people I care about in danger.”

“I can imagine that would be particularly difficult with your husband.”

“Oh boy,” McCoy agreed. “Have you ever been married?”

“Yes,” said Thelles. “He died two years ago.”

“I’m sorry. What happened? I mean, if you want to tell me.”

“He had a heart attack. Magar was full Aenar. The prevalence of cardiovascular disease is just one reason why the subspecies is dying out. Those of mixed heritage like myself are much healthier.”

“What was he like?”

Thelles sat back in his chair. His expression became wistful and his antennae pointed slightly to the side as his attention turned from the man in front of him. “I tell people, ‘He was beautiful.’ Which is true. He was tall, handsome, had an amazing body and a great smile, but it was far more than that. He seemed to me to be full of a sort of light – kindness, grace, passion – it seemed to just pour out of him and take up space. He filled any room he inhabited. While he was alive, he was my sun. I was content just to be warmed by him.” Thelles looked down at his folded hands. “It sounds foolish.”

“No it doesn’t. It sounds like you were in love.”

Thelles smiled at that. “After Magar died,” he went on, “I couldn’t stay among our people. There were too many reminders of what I had lost. I petitioned to have my commission reinstated and was accepted. I came here to teach and to continue my research.”

“That seems like it would be rather lonely.”

“My people distrust the other Andorians. They think of them as primitive and warlike. They disapproved of my mother taking an Andorian lover, and they disapproved of me. Magar was a buffer to that, but once he was gone, many felt free to vent their prejudices at me… again. Believe me, this is much less lonely.”

“There’s prejudice here too,” said McCoy.

“True, but for me at least, it doesn’t have the weight of history.” Thelles pointed his fork at what was left of his slice of pie. “This is delicious, by the way.”

McCoy grinned. “I’m glad you like it.”

“How did you learn to cook?” asked Thelles.

“My dad. He was very good. I didn’t get interested in learning how until I had to live on my own though. I only learned a few dishes before I lost my mind and joined Starfleet. Do you cook?”

“Not at all. I wish I had thought to learn some of my mother’s recipes. She used to make a tuber root soup whenever I was sick. It was so delicate that it always stayed down, no matter how awful I was feeling. I’d give my left antenna to have it again. No one makes it the way she did.”

“My mom used to make something she called ‘Magic Chicken Soup’ when I was sick. I loved it. I found out years later it was just a packet of instant broth with noodles in it.”

Thelles laughed. “I’ll bet no one can open a packet like she did.”

“She always waited for the water to come to a full boil,” said McCoy. “That was her secret.” He nodded toward Thelles’ empty plate. “You want another slice?” he asked.

“Oh, yes please.” McCoy took Thelles’ plate and stood up. “Is that customary? I don’t think any Human has ever offered me a second portion before.”

“That’s because you only eat at noodle carts and the Starfleet cafeteria. Most Humans will, and a nice Southern boy like me will happily offer you slice after slice of tomato pie, or any kind of pie, or whatever else is on hand until you’re full as a tick. So be sure to stop me when you’ve had enough, or we’ll be rolling you to the elevator when you leave.” McCoy winked.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” said Thelles.

 

“Is it so difficult to believe that she sought out the others on her own?” asked Sarek. He and Spock were sitting near the top of the gallery at the Court of Interplanetary Justice on Babel. The formal charges against the surviving Khitomer conspirators were expected to be read soon.

Spock shook his head. “The other conspirators have strong ties to their governments. It’s an open secret that Nanclus is an agent of the Tal Shiar. Chang was the Klingon Chancellor’s Chief of Staff and clearly had the support of many, if not most, of the members of the Klingon High Council. West and Cartwright were both top advisers to the Federation President.

“Valeris was a lieutenant in Starfleet. Her family consists of engineers and artisans. Her strongest tie to any government is that she was my protégé. Someone had both the confidence of the others and Valeris. The logical conclusion is that she was chosen and groomed to be a pawn in this or some other game. I would like to know by whom and to what end.”

Sarek opened his mouth to say more, but they were interrupted by the bailiff announcing the arrival of Justice Kaeleg. Starfleet officers led in the conspirators. Nanclus appeared angry. The Court had limited jurisdiction over him. They could sentence him, but it would be up to the Romulan Senate to carry out that sentence. They were equally likely to commend him for the plot, or quietly ‘disappear’ him for its failure – possibly both. Cartwright was ashen and gaunt in his plain dress uniform. He had been temporarily stripped of his rank pending the outcome of the trial, when he would, no doubt, be permanently discharged from Starfleet before his sentence was carried out. Valeris wore her Vulcan mask of imperturbability, but she was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes.

The charges were read – Assassination, Conspiracy to Commit Assassination, Treason, and Conspiracy to Commit Treason. Senator Pardek moved to have Nanclus tried on Romulus, and was denied. Justice Kaeleg set the trial to begin in three months’ time, although everyone there knew that, by the time the last petition and extension had been filed and adjudicated, they would be lucky if the trial started a year from now.

Sarek and Spock stood to leave. On their way out, Sarek said, “I find no weakness with your logic in wishing to pursue an investigation into the issue, Spock, but it is clear that her actions have affected you… emotionally.”

“They have,” Spock conceded. “I have spent many hours in meditation over it. I assure you that I shall be diligent in examining my motives before I act in this matter.”

 

“There’s no news about your friend’s ship?” asked Thelles. He and McCoy were having a quick lunch in the teachers’ dining room before McCoy went on afternoon rounds with the ensigns/residents.

“No,” said McCoy. “And I don’t expect any. The _Jenolan_ took the new route through Klingon space to Norpin V. It goes right by the Klingon-Romulan border. Anything could have happened.”

“You don’t think it was attacked?”

“Not likely. If a rogue Klingon wanted to start something, or if a Romulan wanted to make it look as though a Klingon had attacked one of our ships, they would have made sure we found out about it. But the number of weird things that can happen out there,” McCoy paused to wave a hand in the general direction of ‘away from Earth,’ “is mind-boggling. And if he crossed over into Romulan Space – well, Spock is seeking permission to search further inside the border, but it doesn’t look likely.”

“You don’t seem very hopeful,” said Thelles.

“I don’t know of anyone more resourceful than Montgomery Scott, and I served with some of the most resourceful people in Starfleet. If there was any way to get out of a tight spot or to contact someone, he would have found it sometime in the last two months.”

“I’m sorry, Leonard.”

“Me too.” They finished the rest of their meal in silence.

As they were leaving, McCoy spoke. “Jarin, I almost forgot. They’re promoting me on Friday.”

“Congratulations.” Thellis smiled.

“My friends wanted to have some kind of celebration, but with everything that’s going on...”

“Of course.”

“We’re just going to have dinner at a little place in the city. I’d like it if you could come.”

“I’d be honored. Thank you.”

“I’ll send you the details.” They both headed back to work.

 

“Dammit,” muttered McCoy as the little circle of metal dropped onto his plate with a tiny ‘clink.’ McCoy caught it neatly before it could end up in his étouffée. He fished the back of the little pin from under the light green band on his left sleeve.

Dr. Chapel, who was seated to his right, said, “It’s a good thing you don’t have to wear those on your medical tunic. Half of Starfleet would have your service pips in them.”

On his left, Spock took the pin and affixed it once again to the band. “I do wonder why I let a man who can’t dress himself reattach my brain.”

“Oh, I think I did all right. You could walk around and be supercilious afterwards, so you were basically good as new.” said McCoy.

Thelles, seated across from McCoy, raised his eyebrows at this exchange. Uhura, on Thelles’ left, gave him a slight nudge and said, “Don’t mind them, Doctor. They’ve always been like this.”

“Sometimes worse,” said Sulu, on Thelles’ other side.

“Leonard used to accuse Spock of having green blood just to be contrary,” said Chapel, “and Spock would tell Leonard that he enjoyed martyring himself.”

Sulu added, “Spock would find something to be fascinating and McCoy would declare it horrifying, amoral, or life-threatening – maybe even all three. Then he’d tell Spock that he had less heart than the ship’s computer.”

“And then Spock would accuse Dr. McCoy of focusing so much on his feelings that he missed all of the facts,” said Uhura.

“Spock was just reminding me that I needed to step back and think things through,” said McCoy. “He was right a lot of the time.”

“Captain McCoy has always given me the benefit of his candid point of view. If his opinions were often delivered in a less than diplomatic fashion, they were sincere and lucid, and I have always found them valuable,” said Spock.

McCoy was laughing and shaking his head. “The last time you called me ‘Captain McCoy’ was when I told you to shut up because we were rescuing you whether you thought it was logical or not.”

Uhura smiled at Thelles. “As you can see, the only thing they do quicker than attack each other is defend each other. Even Captain Kirk heard about it if one of them thought he was coming down too hard on the other.”

“It sounds as though the bridge of the _Enterprise_ was a rather lively place,” said Thelles.

“Oh, it was,” said Sulu.

“Really?” asked Chapel. “I thought sickbay was the hot spot.”

“I wouldn’t know. I tried to avoid it."

“You did a terrible job,” retorted Chapel.

After that, the conversation turned to other subjects. Uhura, McCoy and Chapel drew Thelles out about his work while Sulu and Spock discussed the upcoming trial on Babel. By dessert, they had started telling Thelles stories about Kirk and Scotty. The restaurant sent along a bottle of champagne with the last course. Apparently, their waiter had told the manager that they were celebrating.

Once the champagne was poured, McCoy stood and held up his glass. “I just wanted to thank y’all for coming. This has been a difficult time for all of us, but tonight has reminded me of how lucky I am to have such wonderful friends, old and new. So, here’s to you, and here’s to the ones who couldn’t be here. To absent friends.”

Everyone else stood. They touched glasses and echoed McCoy – “To absent friends.” They sipped their champagne.

Then Sulu said, “And to Captain McCoy. May his occasions to wear his dress uniform be few and far between.”

“Here, here,” said the others.

“Amen,” said McCoy.

 

“Are there any questions?” McCoy was wrapping up a lecture on empirical evidence versus self-reporting in diagnosis.

A tall cadet with red hair raised his hand. “You said that cultural misunderstandings may result in false information. Could you elaborate?”

“Sure.” McCoy thought for a second. “Once, we had a Kasheeta male present with dozens of lesions along the lower edge of his cranium. We treated him for infection and they healed just fine, but a few months later he was back in sickbay with the same condition. A colleague of mine mentioned that the pattern of the lesions was similar to the pattern in which feathers grow from the lower craniums of Kasheeta females. The Kasheeta had always told us that their males don’t grow feathers, and they don’t. They pluck them out because they don’t consider them ‘manly.’ This particular Kasheeta was doing it improperly, resulting in infected follicles. He hadn’t wanted to discuss it, because he genuinely thought that only a small minority of Kasheeta males suffered from his ‘shameful condition.’

“It’s important to remember that a cultural ideal is often stated in the same language as a biological reality. In fact, a member of a species may not know or acknowledge that there’s a difference.

“Let me give you another example. All non-Humans in the room who have heard that the ‘natural’ Human mating habit is to ‘meet someone, fall in love, marry, have children, and grow old together,’ please raise your hand.”

Nearly every non-Human hand shot up.

“Okay, leave them up there. Now, everyone with a hand up, I want you to put your hand down if you’ve personally observed this to be complete nonsense.”

Every raised hand went down.

“Humans, of course, are much more likely to engage in serial monogamy and/or promiscuity. These are the strategies we’ve evolved to utilize. There are some species who’ve evolved to form life-long pair bonds. Our cultural ideal -- or, at least, the cultural ideal of many Humans-- is their biological reality.

“If a physician were to accept at face value the notion that a Human’s always monogamous with their partner, we might rule out an STD, even when presented with symptoms consistent with one. At best, that physician would be in for a colossal waste of time. At worst, the patient might die of their illness.”

McCoy glanced at the clock. “That’s it for today. You know your assignments. Have a great weekend.”

The cadets filed out quickly. This was their last class of the week.

“Have you always had such a dim view of romance? Or is that what happens when you marry a Vulcan?”

McCoy looked up. At the back of the hall sat a familiar figure in a long, flame-orange dress.

“Nyota,” he waved her closer, grinning. “May I remind you that Vulcans do form lifelong pair bonds. And you know damn well I’m too romantic for my own good.”

As Uhura came down the broad steps, McCoy went on. “Furthermore, I’d like to add that it’s been a month of Sundays since I last saw you in civilian clothes, and that you look particularly fetching in that frock.”

“Why, thank you, Leonard.” She smiled. “Are you going to change?”

“No time. My uniform will have to do. For once in my life, I’d like to hear the first movement.”

“Where’s Spock?”

“He had to leave Vulcan a little late.  He said he’d meet us at the concert hall.”

McCoy offered Uhura his arm and they walked together across the campus to the transport station. They arrived just in time to catch the next ground transport into the city.

They met Spock at the steps of the concert hall. McCoy briefly considered throwing himself into Spock’s arms and kissing him senseless. He settled on holding out his first two fingers.

“Husband,” said Spock, returning the gesture. [ _sweet, thick, warm, my_ _mind_ _has longed for yours_ _and_ _my body misses your touch_ ]

“Spock,” said McCoy, grinning. He must have held the contact just a little too long. Uhura cleared her throat.

“It’s good to see you, Spock,” she said, warmly.

“The prospect of an evening spent in your company is pleasing to me as well,” said Spock.

“Shall we then?” asked McCoy, gesturing toward the door.

The concert was lovely. Even if Chopin was not exactly McCoy’s thing, he was content to listen to any kind of music that made Spock smile. Afterwards, they ate omelets at an all-night restaurant, relaxed and happy, talking about their lives and the music until Uhura noticed the time. “Oh, damn,” she said. “I have to go, or I’ll miss the last transport at midnight.” Spock and McCoy walked her to the station before heading home.

It was 0300 before they got to sleep.

At 0600 McCoy vaguely noted Spock getting up, probably to meditate. McCoy rolled over into the warmth Spock had left behind, and fell back asleep, breathing Spock’s scent. At 0730, McCoy could no longer ignore the sunlight shining through the bedroom window, nor his bladder. When he got back from the bathroom, Spock had returned, so McCoy snuggled up next to him.

“How was your trip?” asked McCoy “I kind of forgot to ask you last night.”

“You were distracted,” said Spock. “I accept the blame entirely.” He pulled McCoy closer and stroked his jaw. “To answer your question, it was quite productive. I was able to arrange your medical exchange with the Klingons.”

“My what?” asked McCoy.

“Your medical exchange with Qo’noS, as you mentioned to Lady Mara,” said Spock. “She was quite enthusiastic about your idea. Indeed, one might say that she ‘ran with it.’”

“You sound way too amused, Spock.”

“Do you seek to provoke me with this slander?”

McCoy grabbed a pillow and smacked Spock on the head with it. “Just tell me what Mara has in store for me, hobgoblin.”

“Very well,” said Spock, chuckling dryly. “She is sending you two doctors. They are to train with you for four months.”

McCoy sat up and looked down at Spock. “She’s sending me two doctors? Two _Klingon_ doctors?”

“Indeed. She is sending her daughter Nakaroth, and Nakaroth’s partner, Dukarra.”

“When?”

“In the spring. The exact date has not yet been chosen.”

McCoy lay back down. “Next time, could you just get me a kitten or something? What am I going to do with two Klingon doctors, for god’s sakes?”

“You are going to do what you always do. You are going to teach them to be better doctors, and you are going to learn from them yourself.”

“I’m going to have to forbid you from leaving the planet, if you’re going to pull stunts like this the minute you’re out my sight.”

“Oh?” Spock rolled over onto McCoy, pinning him to the bed. “And how do you propose to confine me here?” He began kissing McCoy’s neck.

“Spock.” More kisses. A little bite here and there. Spock’s hand roamed over McCoy’s ribs. “Spock. Hey, that tickles!” Spock kissed McCoy’s lips, sweetly, thoroughly, uttered low growling sounds into his mouth. He nibbled McCoy’s earlobe. “Sp-o-o-ck! It’s been what? Four hours?”

“It has been at least five hours since we last made love.”

“Well, you can’t squeeze blood from a turnip,” huffed McCoy.

“However, if you will permit me, I can draw another orgasm from you,” said Spock.

“You’re delusional, but permission granted.”

Spock, as usual, was right.

 

One month and three weeks later, McCoy was standing at the Marin County Campus transporter pad in his dress uniform.

“I’m still not sure why I couldn’t wear the bomber jacket. Why let them make me a captain, if I can’t enjoy the privileges?” said McCoy.

“There has not been a Klingon on Earth in 147 years,” said Spock, himself dressed in one of his more formal outfits.

“They’re in the Council Chambers all the time!”

“The Council Chambers are technically neutral territory, as is the rest of the Presidio. They do not even avail themselves of accommodations here, preferring to eat and sleep aboard their ships when they visit.”

“But no pressure? This is all very low-key?”

“We are the only ones here,” said Spock, gesturing at himself, McCoy, and Tellek, who stood nearby. “It was thought best to not create a large fanfare. There will be an official state visit by Chancellor Azetbur in the fall.

“However, this is indeed an important exchange, which is why Tellek and I will be on Earth constantly for the next four months.”

“Well, I guess there are some perks,” said McCoy, smiling. “At least this uniform ain’t as purgatorial as the blue one.”

“The blue one did suit you, though.”

“Oh?”

Spock held out two fingers. McCoy touched them briefly.

[ _an image, McCoy in his old dress uniform, trying to perform a Vulcan salute, he looks from his hand to Spock’s and up into Spock’s eyes,_ _Spock should be accustomed by now but the beauty of that particular shade of blue_ _creates a frisson that_ _still startles him on occasion_ ]

“I suppose the color was flattering,” said McCoy.

There were no more opportunities for either reminiscences or flirtation. Familiar blue waves of light announced the arrival of their guests.

Two Klingon women were materializing on the pad.

As they went from mere silhouettes to fully-formed figures, McCoy could see that they also had dressed up for the occasion. They wore long, full, split skirts and tightly-fitted jackets. Rather than the armored leather style that McCoy was used to, these jackets were of a stiff fabric woven into fine, uneven stripes – black and burgundy for the taller woman, and black and bronze for the shorter. They crossed in front and were held closed by a collection of buckles at the right shoulder and a wide belt that cinched the waist.

The shorter Klingon stepped forward and offered her hand to McCoy. “I am Dr. Nakaroth, Daughter of Mara, Daughter of Kang. This is my _par’Mach’kai_ , Dr. Dukarra, Daughter of K’leyal, Daughter of Kang.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Dr. Nakaroth,” he said, shaking her hand. “And an honor to meet you too, Dr. Dukarra.” He offered Dukarra his hand. “I’m Dr. Leonard McCoy. This is my husband, Federation Ambassador Spock, and his chief aide, Tellek.”

The Klingons exchanged nods with the Vulcans. “Welcome to Earth,” said Spock.

It had been decided to quarter the Klingon doctors in the same apartment building where McCoy and Spock lived. On the way there, they discussed their specialties (Nakaroth was a surgeon. Dukarra was an obstetrician.), when the Klingons would begin going on rounds with McCoy (They would begin in the morning, and they were welcome to attend any lecture that struck their fancy during their stay.), and the complexities of Klingon adoption and marriage customs that had led to Nakaroth and Dukarra having two different mothers.

Dukarra explained her unusual family ties. “Nakaroth and I cannot marry. For Klingons, marriage is not a private arrangement, but one that creates or perpetuates a House. Every House must have a male Head and a female Head. Exceptions are made only rarely, and they are not meant to be permanent. When Nakaroth and I declared ourselves to be _par’Mach’kais_ , Lady Mara and General Kang offered to adopt me, so that we could be members of the same House. My parents did the same. I chose to join Nakaroth’s House, but my family did not relinquish their rights to me entirely, therefore, I continue to name my mother as one of my primary family ties.”

“Sounds complicated,” said McCoy.

“It is,” growled Nakaroth.

 

The reactions among McCoy’s residents to being joined by Drs. Nakaroth and Dukarra were mixed. Some were shocked. Others were curious. Most feigned nonchalance with varying degrees of success.

Once McCoy had made introductions, an ensign named Mae Lin asked about the Klingons’ apparel. “It’s just that I don’t think I’ve seen an outfit like that in any pictures I’ve ever seen of Klingons,” she said, blushing. They were wearing a simpler version of their striped formal jackets with the same wide belts, but shorter, simpler split skirts, and black boots.

Nakaroth answered, “These are the uniforms at our hospital on Qo’noS. The fabric of the jackets is the traditional weave for a Klingon healer. The different colors signify our specialties.”

“I’ve heard that doctors aren’t held in very high regard among Klingons,” said another ensign, a Catian named K’sar. “Isn’t it true that only the ability to kill matters among your people?”

McCoy shot him a look, but decided to see how Nakaroth handled the question. “It is true that we value our warriors,” she said. “We are a people who have had to fight in order to survive in a part of the galaxy that is not rich in resources. However, every Klingon performs his or her duty with honor.”

McCoy noticed that Nakaroth and Dukarra had moved just slightly into a more advantageous fighting position – nothing overt, their shoulders now touched, and it wouldn’t take much more movement to put them in a back-to-back stance. He doubted they were even aware of it. Dukarra spoke. “All Klingons are warriors. Even those who choose to fight disease and injury can also fight men. It is our strength.”

“Well,” said McCoy, “on that note, let’s get to work. I’m sure we can find plenty of disease and injury to keep us all busy.”

They began their tour of the various sickbays. McCoy answered questions about the equipment from the Klingon doctors and questions about the patients from the Federation doctors. Mostly, they were seeing the usual – cadets with pulled muscles and torn ligaments. Like on a starship, sports injuries were common here. Such injuries were nothing new to Nakaroth, but she was very interested in the tiny scope/regenerator that Dr. Kaplan used to repair a female cadet’s torn meniscus. She watched the procedure carefully.

“That was very efficient. Have you had much practice with this equipment?” she asked the young Human.

“That was my second time treating that type of injury,” he said. “A more experienced doctor could do it much faster.”

“You did it correctly,” said McCoy. “That’s the important thing. The rest comes in time.”

“A field medic could put a warrior back into battle immediately using this equipment,” said Nakaroth.

“The tear is still weak,” said Kaplan. He looked to the cadet. “You really did a number on it, and this is the third time you’ve been in here this year with a similar injury.”

“Work hard, play hard,” said the cadet.

“Work smarter, not harder,” Kaplan returned. “The same goes for playing. No more Parrises squares until you’ve strengthened your knees. I’ll send you a regimen of exercises. You are retired from the team until I say otherwise.”

“You can’t do that!” she cried.

“I certainly can do that.”

“Come on! That’s not fair!”

“You wouldn’t go into a match with a faulty mallet. You need to take care of your equipment, and right now, that’s your knee.”

The cadet slid down from the exam table, scowling.

Kaplan spoke quietly. “Let me remind you, Cadet, you are at the Academy to learn to be a Starfleet officer, not a Parrises squares player.”

She sighed. “You’re right, Doctor. Thank you.”

After the cadet left, Nakaroth said, “The difference between a _bekk_ and a general, is that a general knows when to regroup.”

“Is that what you tell stubborn warriors who don’t know when to quit?” asked Kaplan.

“Yes,” said Nakaroth. “Sometimes it even works.”

 

***

 

“Kaplan told me, years later, that he used that line about _bekks_ and generals all the time. Well, he changed it to ensigns and admirals, but you get the idea,” said McCoy.

“I admit, I was surprised at how well-received Nakaroth and Dukarra were, after the initial hesitation was overcome,” said Spock.

“Doctors have more in common than not, I suppose. Or they should have. Most are in it to help people. And Dukarra came armed with the recipe for raktajino. There’s nothing a medico loves better than stimulants.”

“So I’ve observed.”

“Besides, they were fun to have around.”

“Indeed? I wouldn’t characterize the incident at the Shakespeare Festival as amusing,” said Spock.

“They incited one little brawl. Who knew that tiny Juliet would be so feisty?”

“Coming home to the three of you feasting on live crayfish was disturbing.”

“The girls were hungry, and the ones I was eating were boiled.”

“They were constantly encouraging you to drink with them. I nursed you through no fewer than five hangovers.”

“I wasn’t really that hungover. I just liked having you bring me tea and wonton soup,” said McCoy.

“Tellek asked an innocent question about their marriage customs, and they insisted on testing 'Vulcan ducking skills.’”

“He has great reflexes and knows a surprising amount of romantic poetry. And it led to him teaching them how to use _lirpas_. That bled off a little of their excess… enthusiasm.”

“They sang passages from Klingon opera. Nakaroth was always off-key,” said Spock.

“Okay, now you’re just arguing out of sheer cussedness,” said McCoy. “It couldn’t have been easy for them. They have to justify choosing to be doctors all the time at home, and here they had to constantly defend their culture. It’s no wonder they got a little rambunctious from time to time. They were good doctors, still are.”

 

***

 

“Why don’t you just have the joints replaced?” asked Nakaroth, gesturing at McCoy’s hands. They were sitting on the balcony, about three months after the doctors’ arrival, drinking mint juleps. Dukarra and Spock were at the campus theater, taking in a Sunday matinée of _Tosca_. “Taking NSAIDs every day isn’t good for your liver.”

“Oh, now you’re worried about my liver,” said McCoy.

“This mint tea, or whatever it is, couldn’t harm a Praxian fruit fly,” she replied.

“Hey! Is that any way to speak of a traditional libation of my people?” Nakaroth just rolled her eyes. “And to answer your question, I wouldn’t be able to perform surgery anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I’d lose too much dexterity.”

“I perform joint replacements all the time, and no one has complained. I’d hear about it if a patient couldn’t use a _bat’leth_ , believe me,” said Nakaroth.

“A laser scalpel isn’t a _bat’leth_ , but that’s still impressive retention of strength and flexibility,” said McCoy. “Care to take a little trip to Orthopedics tomorrow morning?”

As it turned out, the Orthopedics team was very interested in learning Nakaroth’s technique for joint replacement, as well as the Klingon method of manufacturing replacement joints. Even Dr. Chapel and part of the immunology team showed up at the lab to learn more.

“And your patients can usually wield one of those big Klingon swords within a few days?” asked Chapel.

“Usually,” said Nakaroth. “If I have a poor outcome, it’s because the patient waited too long before consulting me, and the tissues around the joint are deteriorated to the point where they no longer have the required strength.”

“Couldn’t you just regenerate those tissues?” asked Chapel.

“Our technology with regenerators is not as advanced as yours. From what I’ve seen, we probably could do exactly that with a Federation regenerator.”

 

Spock and Dukarra sat in the gallery of the operating theater, watching Nakaroth operate on McCoy’s hands. This was the second arthroplasty she had performed here.

Although McCoy had volunteered to be her first Human patient, it had been decided that a patient with a more advanced case of arthritis would make a more dramatic impression. Captain Merrick had been overjoyed at the success of his own operation.

Spock watched the scene in the operating room closely. Nakaroth worked with an air of self-assurance and calm, and the assisting surgeon, Dr. Beaulieu, seemed satisfied with the progress of the operation. McCoy appeared relaxed as he sat on the biobed with first his right, then his left hand under the small surgical frame, now and then exchanging a quip with one of the other two doctors. One might not even have been aware of McCoy’s trepidation going into this operation, if one were not his husband.

Spock glanced at Dukarra. Her face betrayed nothing of her thoughts, but her hand was balled into a fist by her side.

“She is fond of him,” said Spock, “and she will be distressed if the outcome is less than ideal.”

Dukarra turned her head toward him sharply.

Spock continued, “I merely considered what Dr. McCoy’s state of mind would be, if their roles were reversed.”

Dukarra snorted. “She wouldn’t have agreed to perform the operation if she thought there was a chance that she might not succeed.”

“I have every confidence in Dr. Nakaroth’s abilities.”

“As well you should.” Dukarra turned back to the viewing window. “She has a healer’s heart. She must offer help, but she feels it keenly when she fails. You understand. McCoy is the same.”

“Indeed.”

They watched the operation silently for a few minutes before Dukarra spoke again.

“Mara told us of her first encounter with you before we left,” she said. “It left a deep impression on her.”

“It was a most memorable series of events,” said Spock.

“She told us to be careful. The ways of the Federation are seductive to Klingons who do not possess a warrior’s heart. She said that seeing you and Kirk and McCoy work together, balancing each other... It made her long for a time when the hearts of scientists and healers were valued among us as much as the hearts of warriors.”

“Do you wish to leave the Empire?” asked Spock.

“No. I wish to remain and fight. Eventually, they will see that our hearts are as fierce as theirs. They will recognize that the courage required to offer a hand in aid is as great as the courage required to take up a _bat’leth_. We will _make_ them see it. And when we have restored balance to our people, we will have done it in our own way, not the Federation’s. We will always be Klingons.”

 

When the Klingon doctors left Terra, they took with them a couple of state-of-the-art tissue regenerators, numerous new techniques, and Dr. Jonas Kaplan.

“I think we still have a lot to learn from them, particularly in the field of emergency trauma care. That’s worth taking a few months out of my residency,” he said. “I just hope I don’t starve to death.”

The end of their stay coincided with Chancellor Azetbur’s state visit. If Terrans had found the presence of a couple of Klingon doctors to be unsettling, it was nothing compared to Azetbur’s entourage of elite Klingon warriors.

McCoy became very well-acquainted with his dress uniform in the ensuing week of formal dinners and official ceremonies. He wasn’t the only one struggling with his wardrobe. At one point, Nakaroth tripped on the hem of her long skirt and nearly crashed into Admiral T’pres. Luckily, Tellek’s reflexes had recently been honed due to the practical nature of his recent cultural exchanges with the Klingon doctors. He caught her before anyone got injured, although not before she let loose a stream of what McCoy had come to recognize as rather colorful Klingon invective. There were several snorts of suppressed laughter from the Chancellor’s guards.

When it was actually time to go, McCoy hugged both of the daughters of Kang in turn and told Nakaroth that he was sorry to drive her success rate down.

She frowned. “I have seen you use a laser scalpel! You have as much dexterity as ever!”

“Yeah, but I can’t use a _bat’leth_ worth a damn.”

 

“Wow, this place is jumping.” Dr. Chapel stood just inside the entrance to the largest of the sickbay simulations – the one belonging to the _Excelsior_ -class ships.

“We got us an outbreak of Levodian Flu,” said McCoy, grinning. “It’s all over the Academy.”

“Delightful,” said Chapel. “You look thrilled.”

“I am thrilled. Levodian Flu is highly contagious, but also harmless, and it only lasts a couple of days. I couldn’t have devised a better lesson in dealing with an outbreak if I’d tried. Plus, I had it when it went through the _Enterprise_ four years ago, so I’m immune.”

“Poor Spock.”

“Why ‘poor Spock?’ Vulcans can’t get Levodian Flu.”

“No, but he had to deal with a sick McCoy. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

“And yet, somehow he managed the ordeal with relatively little permanent harm.”

“Vulcans are so resilient.”

“Dr. McCoy,” one of the young doctors called out. McCoy went over to the exam table where she was attending a young Trill man.

“Dr. Riniker,” he said. “What seems to be the problem?”

“This cadet has the symptoms of Levodian Flu – cough, body aches, fever – but he’s also presenting with dizziness and nausea. I ran a second scan. It looks like Rugalan Fever.”

McCoy looked at the exam table’s readout. “Good call. That’s Rugalan Fever, alright.” He looked at the Trill cadet. “What’s your name?”

The cadet swallowed, then said, “Davin Megoss, sir.”

“Well, Davin Megoss, you’re in for a rough few weeks, but you’re going to be okay.” He turned to Riniker. “Dr. Heyl’aa should be coming on duty. I’ll take the cadet to the ICU. Ask her to join us there.”

“Yes, sir,” said Riniker.

McCoy helped Megoss down from the exam table and held him steady for the short walk to the Intensive Care Unit. He got the cadet settled on a bio-bed there.

“Dr. McCoy?” said Megoss. “Trill sometimes die from Rugalan Fever.”

“That’s true, but we caught it early, and with proper care – making sure you don’t get dehydrated or run too high of a fever – it will run it’s course and you’ll be fine. You’re in the finest medical facility in the quadrant, cadet.”

Dr. Riniker arrived with Dr. Heyl’aa and a nurse.

McCoy smiled at the cadet. “I leave you in the capable hands of these fine medicos, Mr. Megoss.” He left as Dr. Riniker filled the other two in on the status of her patient.

McCoy rejoined Chapel. “Well, that’s it for me, the next shift is here, and I’m expecting Spock home any minute now. He said he’d meet me at the entrance. Care to walk me out?”

“I’d love to,” said Chapel.

McCoy paused to sign a PADD being held out to him by a nurse, and to wave at Dr. Carter, who had graciously consented to be the senior staff member who stayed behind to give the report to the next shift.

“I take it Spock’s been gone for awhile,” said Chapel, as they navigated the confounding maze of corridors leading to the exit.

“That obvious?” asked McCoy.

“I’ve never seen you leave your shift on time, ever.”

“It’s only been ten days this time, but I’ll admit I’m not used to these separations. It was a little easier when Jim was around...”

Chapel placed her hand on his forearm. The look she gave him was full of concern and affection.

“Leonard, if you ever need anything, I’m a very short rail trip away.”

“I know. And I'll take you up on that sometime.” He smiled. “I’m doing fine. I’ve started writing a textbook on alien physiology. It keeps me busy.”

They finally gained the lobby.

“You never told me what brought you to the Academy today,” McCoy prompted.

“Oh, Admiral T’Pres wanted to discuss the new recommendations for vaccinating the cadets before they start their training in space. I thought I’d hunt you down afterwards and ask what your plans are for winter break.”

“Maui. Gracie is going to be giving birth again and Spock wants to visit her and the baby.”

They walked out into the bright sunshine and found a shade tree while they waited for Spock.

“Hmm. I was going to invite you to come with me to Vermont, but I don’t think even maple candy and sleigh rides can top a tropical paradise and baby sea mammals,” said Chapel.

“I’ll bet it’s like walking into a Christmas card,” said McCoy.

Chapel grinned. “Something like that,” she agreed. “We’re going to be there until the next term starts. You and Spock are invited to stop by any time. The cabin is huge, and it’s just me and my sister and her husband this year.”

McCoy was about to answer when he became distracted by the sight of Spock striding across the campus toward them. Chapel noticed him at the same time.

Spock was hard not to notice. Among the sea of red Starfleet uniforms and medical whites, Spock’s black Vulcan garb stood out. Not that Spock needed any help in that department. He was tall, graceful, and elegant – every inch a powerful Vulcan male in the prime of life, with all of the gravitas and vigor that implied. And he was just really good-looking.

“I got over my crush on him years ago,” said Chapel. “But every once in a while, I remember why I became infatuated in the first place.”

“Me too,” said McCoy. “I am one lucky bastard.”

When Spock reached them, he bowed slightly to Chapel. “Christine. It is good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” she said, smiling. “How was your trip?”

“I was able to accomplish many errands, and those that I could not satisfactorily conclude are not pressing,” said Spock.

“I see,” said Chapel. “That’s... nice.”

“Husband,” said Spock holding his first two fingers toward McCoy.

“Husband,” said McCoy, blandly, touching those fingers with his own.

[ _McCoy’s back pressed into the wall, his legs wrapped around Spock’s waist, his arms wound around Spock’s shoulders, he kisses licks sucks everything he can get his mouth on lips jaw temple neck and ears_ _oh the ears, he revels in every cry every thrust into his own body elicited by his tongue on those delicate sensitive ears_ ]

“Welcome home,” said McCoy as he broke both their physical and mental contact.

“It is pleasant to be here,” said Spock.

“Well,” said Chapel into the ensuing silence, “I, uh, have some errands of my own to run. I’ll see you two later.” She gave McCoy a quick peck on the cheek. “Don’t forget about my invitation, Leonard.”

“I won’t,” he said, smiling. “Safe trip home.”

After good-byes were said, Spock offered McCoy his arm and they started walking toward the transport station.

“Have you eaten?” asked Spock. “Perhaps we should stop for a meal before going home.”

“I had a very nutritious lunch today,” said McCoy, “and if you aren’t taking me like I’m the heroine in a trashy romance within half an hour, I’ll scream.”

Spock’s lips twitched into an almost-smile. “We should go directly home then, where you can scream all you want.”

McCoy grinned.

 

“Do you have plans for the day?” Spock asked. He had rolled over, wrapped an arm around McCoy, and laid his head on McCoy’s chest. This produced the desired effect of getting McCoy to stroke his hair. [ _like a_ sehlat]

“I have rounds this morning, and I’m meeting a student right after lunch, but I’m yours for the rest of the day. Why?” said McCoy.

“The Denobulan Ambassador has requested an informal meeting with me today. I’d rather accomplish it while you are otherwise occupied so that we may have more time to spend in each others’ company.”

“I missed you too,” said McCoy. He glanced at the chronometer. “Come on, let me up, and I’ll make us some breakfast. There’s no _plomeek_ in the house, but we’ve got oatmeal. You can have it just the way you like it, absolutely plain.”

As it turned out, the student had to cancel. She was in the infirmary, sleeping off the effects of the Levodian Flu. It was just as well. Megoss had managed to vomit on McCoy just before his shift ended. McCoy sent a message to Thelles, telling him not to expect him at the cafeteria today, and went home to get cleaned up.

One of the best things about having a home on Earth was that he had a real shower again. Sonic showers did the job and he liked not fussing around with wet hair, but a real, hot-water shower was a luxury he had missed while on the _Enterprise_. They didn’t have one on Vulcan either, because of the scarcity of water on that planet. But here, he had a large shower with multiple spray heads and a bench and real, honest-to-goodness, ceramic tile.

His voice sounded great in here.

McCoy had sung in choir throughout high school and college. He’d never sung solo – he was far too shy about his abilities – but he loved to sing when no one could hear. Thanks to his mother’s music collection, he had a fairly extensive repertoire.

He sang “Wayfaring Stranger.”

He sang “Help Me Make It Through the Night.”

He was clean, but he decided he was in the mood for some John Prine, (and the hot water was bliss on his aching muscles) so he lingered long enough for one more song.

When Spock arrived at the apartment, he was surprised to find the shower running. He deduced that McCoy had been released from his duties earlier than expected today. He was removing his boots by the door when he heard a sound. Spock followed the sound into the bedroom where he could hear it quite clearly emanating from the bathroom beyond.

Someone was singing. Someone with a warm, vibrant baritone was singing in the shower. Spock understood that some Humans engaged in this activity. He had heard of it, but never actually encountered it. And now a Human – _his_ Human – was giving a demonstration of the ablutionary concert. And Spock was stunned.

McCoy’s voice was beautiful.

He was singing a lament about a longed-for place that had suffered an ecological disaster due to short-sighted economic policies. The tune itself conveyed the childhood joys to be found at the Green River, while McCoy’s voice added pathos to the sense of loss at its destruction. He was skilled at this.

Spock looked into the bathroom. McCoy stood in the shower enclosure. Spock could see him through the clear wall. He stood straight, shoulders back, chest out, head tilted slightly back, eyes closed.

Music, good music, had never failed to move Spock. The additional sight of his husband’s nude body and expressive face was… stirring. Never taking his eyes from McCoy, Spock removed his own clothing and let it fall into a pile on the tile floor. He was opening the door to the shower just as McCoy finished his song and opened his eyes.

“Spock!” McCoy startled, and Spock instinctively put his hands on McCoy’s arms to steady him. “Jesus! You scared the living daylights out of me!”

[ _sunlight as it falls through green leaves onto water flowing over stones, another sun its setting rays shine through water and glint off crystals at the bottom of a sheltered pool, two suns with their spinning compan_ _ions_ _, two worlds with water with air with life, fragile and enduring, two stars and three stars,_ _the first is concept_ _and_ _seed_ _and_ _idea, the second is discipline_ _and_ _the peculiar conditions of growth, the third is_ _process_ _in its infinite variety_ _and_ _life in its infinite combinations, an order too vast to_ _comprehend_ _but a piece of it may be examined celebrated loved, a few moments of song may reveal eternity_ ]

“You like my singing,” said McCoy.

“Very much,” agreed Spock. He turned and closed the shower door, then turned back and pulled McCoy into his arms. “Will you sing again – for me?” [ _petition, plea_ ]

“I’m, uh, a little bashful about people hearing me.”

“Clearly,” said Spock, as he stroked a line from McCoy’s diaphragm, over his throat, and up to his mouth as if this might give him the information necessary to explain how his husband of twenty years had suddenly become a musical instrument. “I understand that Humans are sometimes comforted by imagining that their audience is naked.”

“Yeah, well, when that audience is wet and pressing its cock against mine, ‘comforting’ is not the word that comes to mind.”

Spock brushed his lips against McCoy’s. “Sing for me. Please.” [ _gift me, grace me_ ] He leaned the upper half of his body away from McCoy, although they still held each other around the waist, allowing McCoy room.

McCoy closed his eyes and tilted his head down, thinking. There was a song that reminded him of Spock, reminded him of the way Spock quietly concerned himself on McCoy’s behalf. He opened his eyes and looked at Spock.

“ _If I needed you,_ ” he began singing, “ _would you come to me?_ ”

He was nervous at first. He had not sung for another person since his father had died, and he had not so much sung for David as not minded David being near enough to hear. This was not the kind of music Spock listened to or played. But he could feel Spock’s pleasure, and that made it easier.

“ _Would you come to me and ease my pain?_ ”

[ _the song is_ _gentle_ _and_ _pleading_ _, a_ _prayer_ _and a promise,_ _McCoy’s tension dissolves into a joy that Spock recognizes from his own playing_ ]

“ _If you needed me, I would come to you. I’d swim the seas for to ease your pain._ ”

McCoy sang into the space between himself and Spock. He sang softly, because it was a quiet song meant for intimate spaces – a bar, a coffeehouse, a shower, a lover’s ear – yet the sound floated around, bouncing off tiles and transparent aluminum, and filled the little room.

[ _the song seems simple but the emotions are complex, affection and compassion and the desire for understanding_ _and the hope of comfort_ _and the tender offering of the same and the barest thread of_ _melancholy_ _running through it all_ ]

The song was brief, and when it ended, Spock kissed McCoy again, kissed his thanks and his admiration into McCoy’s mouth. He didn’t want to speak and break the spell that McCoy had woven around his heart. McCoy seemed to have sung everything Vulcan in Spock to sleep, leaving just the Human parts to babble nonsense. Spock broke off the kiss to smile at McCoy.

McCoy chuckled. “That good, huh?”

“It was beautiful.”

[ _the fire and dance of heaven, infinity and order?_ ]

[ _the depth and flow of water, receptive and chaotic_ ]

Spock was nearly overcome by tenderness and desire. He had always loved music, but this was the first time anyone had performed something solely for him. He was aware that McCoy had chosen this song because it reminded him of Spock, but Spock was sure that he’d never heard anything more reflective of Leonard McCoy.

[ _depth and flow_ ]

It felt immense, this tenderness. “Is this too much?” he asked.

“It’s fine, Spock, fine,” said McCoy.

[ _receptive and chaotic_ ]

Spock needed to express his gratitude for this experience, to show McCoy his thanks with his hands and his body and his mouth. He cradled McCoy’s head in his hands, and pressed kisses to his lips, then to his throat [ _instrument_ ], and over his heart [ _source_ ].

Then Spock knelt, and placed his hands on McCoy’s thighs, spreading his fingers over the bones of his hips. He took McCoy into his mouth, held the tip of his cock against his tongue and sucked, licking the underside of it.

[ _salt and bitter and sweet, heat and_ _flood_ _and desire_ ]

Spock pulled McCoy deeper, swallowed as McCoy bumped against his soft palate. McCoy was crying out – nothing coherent, just inarticulate noises and Spock’s name uttered on long, stuttering groans. Spock relaxed his throat and took McCoy to the hilt.

[ _there is symmetry to this, pleasuring his husband with mouth and throat after McCoy has used the same to pleasure him_ ]

Spock increased the rhythm, his own (and by extension, McCoy’s) orgasm drawing so close. Spock could feel the muscles in McCoy’s thighs quiver, and then [ _this ends, as it began, with McCoy’s voice in his ears_ ] they came, Spock swallowing as their pleasure washed over them.

Spock realized that McCoy was sliding down the wall of the shower. He caught McCoy and adjusted his trajectory so that he landed on the bench. Spock still knelt on the floor of the shower. He leaned forward a bit and laid his head on McCoy’s knee.

They rested there for a few minutes.

“Is the plan to spend the rest of the afternoon in here?” asked McCoy.

“That would be an egregious waste of water, even on a planet that has developed an efficient means of desalinization,” said Spock.

“Not to mention that my fingers are getting pruny.”

“I require just a few more minutes for my respiration and heart rate to return to normal.”

“Well, since we’re in here,” said McCoy reaching for the shampoo, “let me wash your hair.”

McCoy snapped open the bottle and poured a bit of the liquid into his hand. He started massaging it into Spock’s scalp. Spock discovered that there was something even better than McCoy combing his fingers through Spock’s hair. This was bliss.

“I guess I’m just full of surprises today,” said McCoy.

 

***

 

“You regret no longer being able to sing,” said Spock.

[ _sadness loss_ ]

“I always liked singing,” said McCoy. “And I especially liked singing for you.”

[ _he is pulling joy and melancholy and_ _tenderness_ _and longing_ _from Spock’s heart and into his own_ _and letting it spill back out again_ _, it is as intimate and_ _affectionate as sex, this gift he can no longer give_ ]

McCoy shook his head. “I really should get some rest before dinner,” he said.

Spock stood up and helped McCoy up after him. He walked McCoy to their bedroom where he made sure that he was comfortable before going to his office and retrieving his lyre. When he came back to the bedroom, McCoy looked surprised.

“Going to serenade me to sleep?”

“Yes,” said Spock, sitting on his side of the bed. He bent and kissed McCoy, re-establishing their connection.

[ _share this with me_ ]

Spock settled the lyre against his thigh and began to play his favorite piece for meditation.

[ _notes as clear and bright as stars in a winter sky, precise and complex, they calm the spirit and still the mind_ ]

Gradually, the music changed. The complicated Vulcan piece that Spock had begun with became more melodic, the beat became simpler, and the tune became familiar.

[ _another song that his mother had loved, one that he had sung for his husband, a song of love and letting go, the borders between them fade, and there it is – within the music is joy and sorrow and peace, a piece of eternity, a gift_ _given and received_ ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided early on that McCoy would inherit his mom's taste in music -- or at least her old music collection, which he played a bunch when he was younger because it made her seem closer after she died. (I know, awww.) She was an art historian specializing in American popular music, and her favorites tended to be folk music and singer/songwriters of the 20th and 21st centuries. Yeah, I gave her a job, but no name. I also decided that she was from Oklahoma, so sue me.
> 
> Anyway, these are the songs referenced in this chapter.
> 
> [Wayfaring Stranger](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1Z4PAZX9Bs%20): If you want to hear it sung by a dude, check out the version by Jack White, which is excellent, but this one by Rhiannon Giddens is my favorite.
> 
> [Help Me Make it Through the Night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xh1y7Jkikuk): By **my** mom's favorite, Kris Kristofferson.
> 
> [Paradise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DEy6EuZp9IY): This song by John Prine is much prettier than Spock's rather dry description makes it seem.
> 
> [If I Needed You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zaP8NGML_QE): I knew that I wanted to do a scene where McCoy sings for Spock and I searched for ages for just the right song -- something deceptively simple, something sweet and sentimental without being saccharine, and something that could conceivably sound good sung _a capella_. This amazing song by Townes Van Zandt is what I found.
> 
> And, although I never make a direct reference to it, I imagined that the song Spock plays at the end was [Wildflowers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XdgY-CQsbKU) by Tom Petty. This version is by the Wailin' Jennys.


	10. Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock and McCoy miss each other and must make do with original characters for company.

When McCoy didn’t emerge from their bedroom at his usual time for breakfast, Spock went to check on him. He found McCoy sitting in his underwear on the edge of the bed, his clothes laid out next to him.

“Sorry,” said McCoy. “I’m not going to be setting any records for speed this morning, I’m afraid.”

“Do you require assistance?” asked Spock.

“Require? No, but if I’m going to make it to breakfast before it’s time for lunch, I could sure use it.”

Spock silently helped McCoy into the simple Vulcan tunic and pants, listening to McCoy’s breathing. It sounded labored, of course, but not particularly so. Still, he could feel that McCoy had been in distress.

“What happened?” asked Spock.

“It hurt. I had to sit down and rest,” said McCoy.

[ _alarm_ ]

“Our activities last night were --”

“Perfect, Spock. Last night was perfect.” McCoy cupped Spock’s cheek. “I woke up a little late and I thought I could make up the time. I was wrong.”

[ _it’s happening so fast_ ]

“Remember your promise, Leonard.”

McCoy smiled. “I remember.”

Once they were finally seated at the breakfast table, Spock said, “Perhaps it would be less stressful to have two short sessions today – one after the morning meal and one after the midday meal?”

“Alright,” said McCoy. “Sounds like a great idea.” Truthfully, McCoy was happy to forgo trying to find a way to fill the morning hours, and he found this ritual recounting to be both a welcome distraction and a comfort.

It was also a sizable undertaking, and McCoy was beginning to doubt that they could manage to complete it in the allotted time. They needed to cover more ground.

And so, by mid-morning they were cuddled up on the garden bench, discussing Spock’s investigation of Valeris and how she came to be involved in the Khitomer conspiracy.

 

***

 

“Are you going to stare at that file for the rest of the evening?” asked McCoy. They were seated on the one Terran-style sofa in the house on Vulcan – a concession to McCoy’s desire to "lounge around" occasionally. McCoy, in fact, lounged against the arm of the sofa at that very moment.  He poked Spock’s thigh with his toe during this inquiry.

“My apologies. I received this information earlier today, but it isn’t an urgent matter,” said Spock, taking hold of McCoy’s ankle and setting the tablet aside.

[ _petition_ ]

“Sensualist,” said Spock, but he pulled off McCoy’s socks and administered the requested foot-rub anyway.

“So this is about Valeris?” asked McCoy, having seen her image in Spock’s mind.

“I’ve discovered that both her husband and his mentor originated from a colony in the Kaleb Sector. However, it isn’t an official colony, and I can’t locate any information on it.”

“If it’s the same one that Saavik was born on, it was destroyed years ago.”

Spock furrowed his brow slightly.  “I was unaware that Saavik was born in the Kaleb Sector.”

“Mmm-hmm,” said McCoy, his eyes closed in contentment as Spock continued the massage. “I remember, because when she said it, I was surprised that there was anything habitable in there. Kaleb IV, I believe she said.”

“Fascinating.” Spock picked up the tablet again.

“Hey!”

“Patience, Doctor,” said Spock as his fingers danced and glided over the surface of the tablet. He raised an eyebrow at whatever he was seeing there. “It appears that my investigation is, once again, at a standstill. The _Potemkin_ is on a deep-space exploratory mission, and won’t be returning to this sector for some months, 8.6 to be exact. I am hesitant to communicate with Saavik about this subject over sub-space channels, so my only choice is to wait.”

“I know something you can do in the meantime,” said McCoy, poking Spock’s leg again.

 

After the quarter break, Spock became involved in negotiations with the Cardassians for control of certain planets along the border of Federation/Cardassian space. Earth was chosen as the venue for these discussions.

Spock experienced pleasure at the prospect of staying in Marin County for awhile. The last few years had taken him to nearly every planet in the Alpha Quadrant other than the one which held McCoy. He missed the simple contentment of sleeping next to his husband every night.

McCoy’s company more than made up for the tedium of dealing with the Cardassians.

And it was tedious, indeed. If the Cardassians couldn’t intimidate their opponents with their superior military might (a tactic that didn’t apply to the Federation), they would bog down negotiations with ardent fights over inconsequentia in the hopes that their adversaries would concede important points of contention out of sheer exhaustion. And that was why the Federation had chosen a Vulcan ambassador for the job.

After many months of negotiation, during which the Cardassians also dragged in arguments about the location of a sub-space telescope that the Federation had already begun to build, they had finally hammered out an agreement. Spock fully expected to sign today.

He saw McCoy standing near the side door of the meeting room, arms folded across his chest, waiting for Spock to notice the anomaly in his surroundings. McCoy’s behavior was utterly unprecedented. He would never interrupt a negotiation this way. Spock quashed the fear blooming in his mind. Now was not the time. He begged the assembled dignitaries for a short recess, and went to where McCoy stood.

The expression on McCoy’s face did nothing to disabuse Spock of the impression that McCoy was about to convey information of an alarming nature. Spock tightened his emotional control.

“What has occurred?” Spock asked, _sotto voce._

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Spock. I just got a communication from Vulcan, from Sarek. It’s your mom. She… died suddenly this morning. Preliminary examination suggests a pulmonary embolism,” said McCoy, quietly.

“I see.” Spock took a breath, and ascertained that his mental discipline was firmly in place. “Please have Tellek ready the _Yuron_ to leave tonight. These negotiations should be concluded within a few hours.”

“We’re not leaving right now?” McCoy scowled.

“It would cause an unacceptable delay in reaching a compromise with the Cardassians.”

“An ‘unacceptable delay?’ Spock, do you hear yourself?”

“This agreement has been months in the making. The proposed outpost on Solarion IV is of utmost importance to Federation security in the Betazed sector.”

“This is your mother we’re talking about!” hissed McCoy. “I would think _that_ would be the thing of utmost importance to you right now!”

“She will not be more dead in a few hours, Doctor. Will you relay the message to Tellek, or should I contact him myself?”

“I’ll take care of it!” snapped McCoy. He turned and left the meeting room so abruptly, that the door almost didn’t open quickly enough to let him pass.

Spock turned and strode back to his place at the negotiation table.

“It is a private matter,” he said to the Guls and the Federation representatives. “It has no bearing on this proceeding.”

Spock’s estimate was accurate. Solarion System was secured for the Federation before three hours had passed. Spock excused himself from the ensuing informal discussions to go directly to the transporter where he was beamed aboard the _Yuron_.  McCoy and Tellek were awaiting him. Tellek immediately requested and was granted clearance to take off.

Spock retired to the sleeping quarters. McCoy followed him.

“Is it now your intention to goad me into confessing that I feel pain?” asked Spock.

“Is that necessary?” asked McCoy.

“You don’t approve of my behavior in this matter. You believe that I should act as you would. You forget that I am Vulcan.”

“Maybe I do.” McCoy shook his head. “It’s not for me to say how you handle this. I’m sorry I let my temper get the better of me.”

“Does my Vulcan side still trouble you so much?”

McCoy sighed. “It used to bother me that you hated the parts of you that you consider Human. If you hated that in yourself, how could you not hate someone who was all Human parts?” asked McCoy. “Today, you zigged when I thought you were going to zag. And, for a moment, all those old fears were right there.”

Spock’s expression softened. “Leonard --”

“I’m not telling you this so that you’ll feel sorry for me. I just want you to understand – you didn’t do anything wrong. I did. You did what’s in your nature. And you’re right, three hours won’t make a difference to Amanda now, and I know it doesn’t mean you love her any less.”

Spock watched McCoy’s hands as he spoke – saw the way he kept unconsciously turning his palms toward Spock. Surely, McCoy understood that this was going to be painful, but he was ready to share in it regardless. He was prepared to take Spock’s pain as his own. Spock’s mother had been the same. She had always offered any comfort he had been willing to take. She had always offered her own hand, only hesitating when she thought that Spock would reject it. In the end, though, she offered anyway.

In the end, so did McCoy. [ _greyness, not smooth stone greyness, soft fog greyness, an empty space waiting, patient_ ]

“This will hurt,” said Spock.

“I know.”

Spock drew McCoy toward the bed. He lay down, and pulled McCoy part-way on top of him, wanting McCoy’s weight holding him here.

“I do not hate Humans, but sometimes I am a little afraid of you.”

Spock lifted his control, allowed the storms to rise.

[ _for a moment the greyness is void, he is cut, severed from the universe, the thread dangles bleeding from his navel,_ _his first connection is gone and he flies floats falls through nothing, airless directionless_

 _a tug, a reminder, he is still tied anchored to life, not many ties, even fewer with any strength, but they_ _pull_ _him back to the stars and cold and space of his universe, and back to the pain as well_

_it pummels him, body blows that knock the air from his lungs damage his organs, he feels them in his gut his kidneys his heart, dull agony flowers in the muscles beneath his skin_

_hands in his, small and smaller, he sees her, she is not at all ghostly, not part of the greyness, she is color and movement, bright and happy,_ _she holds his hand in hers then lets it slip free, she is_ _unencumbered, her husband and son no longer weigh her down with their needs and wants, their wish_ _es_ _for her to be more like them, she laughs now head back shoulders shaking, their shock and embarrassment cannot reach her_

_he weeps_

_he calls her name, not the name the world used for her, the name that was reserved only for him, he sobs it into the void_

_the smaller hand tugs, only a reminder, he is not alone, he looks and sees a young boy, the boy’s head is turned, staring at_ _h_ _i_ _s_ _own bright vision, she_ _is_ _beauty and warmth, her_ _straight black_ _hair as long as a priest’s nearly to her knees,_ _her eyes are wide and gentle and familiar, she kneels and kisses the boy before fading away_

_at the edge of his consciousness he feels the presence of the others, the legion who know this pain_

_the boy turns his blue eyes, blue-like-the-skies-of-Earth eyes toward him, and as he recognizes them the boy becomes the man who shares his life_

_the strongest tie, the body that weights him anchors him in the here and now_

_when th_ _is_ _tie is severed, when it is finally cut, will he float free of this universe?_ ]

Like most rituals on Vulcan, the funeral was small, private, and ancient. Amanda’s body was carried on a palanquin slowly up the steps of Mount V’Sara where a priest spoke a benediction over it. Her body was then consigned to the flames and a dirge was sung while it burned to ash. More prayers were said as the ashes were picked up by the constant winds in this place, and blown over the sheer cliff on the opposite side of the mountain. The canyon beyond was grey with the ashes of millennia of Vulcans.

Before they left, Spock stood at the edge of the cliff and tossed in a small bunch of flowers gathered from his courtyard garden and tied with a ribbon. When Sarek looked at McCoy questioningly, McCoy explained that it was a Terran custom. Sarek nodded, and they started back down the mountain.

 

When the _Potemkin_ visited Sol system a few months later, Spock took the opportunity to speak with Saavik. They met at Spock’s apartment while McCoy was at work.

“Kaleb Colony was in the only habitable location in the sector,” she told him. The temperate zones of Kaleb IV are very similar to Vulcan. The conditions at the equator would kill most species. There is one land mass in the northern temperate zone large enough to host a colony.”

“And the purpose of inhabiting such a remote sector was secrecy,” said Spock.

“I don’t know everything that occurred there, but I believe so,” said Saavik.

“I would appreciate any information you have.”

“I was only sixteen when the colony was destroyed. As far as I know, my life until then was not dissimilar to that of any other Vulcan child. My school followed the same curriculum; we observed the same rituals; my parents arranged my marriage, and they encouraged me to pursue the career that had been planned for me. I was supposed to enter into government service. Subsequent events have caused me to distrust the wisdom of following that path.”

Spock raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

“I believe that the results of my testing may have been falsified, and that I may be… compromised. From what I have observed, the colony on Kaleb IV might have existed to create spies – operatives who would blend into Vulcan culture while remaining loyal to Romulan interests.”

“What has led you to this conclusion?”

“At first, it was the realization that I and the other colonists had been exposed to propaganda. There were certain ideas that I was surprised to find were not pervasive on Vulcan. Everyone I knew on Kaleb IV believed that Romulans and Vulcans were once one people, and that it was inevitable that we would again be one people, or that both races would perish. We were taught that the Vulcans wished for this, but that the Vulcan government feared the weakening of its power. Only the Romulans were working toward that goal.”

“The colony could have been a fringe Vulcan group that sought isolation to pursue their belief.”

“There were other considerations. Most of us were directed into careers that would place us in positions of power. And I believe that a large number of the colonists were Romulans. In school, we were introduced to the idea that Romulans lived among us, that they joined the Vulcan colonies because they longed to be Vulcan. A short time later, my foremother on my father’s side confessed to me that she was such a Romulan.”

“I see.”

“You are unsurprised?” she asked.

“That information was not in your general file, but it must have been in your medical records. While my _katra_ resided within Dr. McCoy, I saw you at my funeral. Your actions there called the information to the surface of his mind,” said Spock.

“It was unwise of me to weep openly.”

“I too weep, Saavik, and have done so publicly, on occasion.”

Saavik looked down. “Do you have any more questions for me?” she asked.

“Are you acquainted with either of these men?” asked Spock, handing her a tablet.

“They were both colonists.” She pointed to the younger man. “His name is Mellik.” She pointed to the other Vulcan. “And that’s Kofek, our teacher, although his appearance has been altered slightly. We were all on an educational trip with nineteen other students and one other teacher to the equatorial zone when the attack transpired. As far as I know, those in our group were the only survivors.”

“You have not been in contact with them?”

“No. The sister of my forefather offered me a place in her home on Vulcan. I only know that the others went to live on another colony. I did not think to ask which one at the time. I was not… everyone with whom I may have wished to maintain a relationship had perished.”

“Do you know who carried out the attack?” asked Spock.

“I was told that it must have been the V’Shar – that the colony had been discovered, and the V’Shar destroyed it because they saw it as a threat to their authority. I was not in a position to think critically of this claim at the time. I have since come to disbelieve it entirely.”

“Thank you, Saavik,” said Spock. “I hope that you will forgive me for asking you to recall such troubling memories.”

“You should perform a mind-meld on me,” she said.

“Do you wish me to ascertain the truth of your words? I trust you.”

“You also trusted Valeris, and I have just admitted to you that I was in the power of our enemies for at least the first sixteen years of my life. I have never allowed this, not wishing to divulge my secrets any more than necessary, but you now know everything. It would be for my peace of mind as well as yours.”

“You wish to know if someone has left suggestions in your mind.”

“Yes.”

“You are aware that the uncovering of such compulsions can damage the mind that carries them?’

“Yes.”

“Very well.” Spock sat closer to her and placed his fingertips into position on her face. It was the first time he had performed this since he had used it to uncover the Khitomer Conspiracy. He set the memory aside and carefully shielded himself before probing Saavik’s mind.

“Your thoughts are my thoughts.” There was a moment of hesitation on her part – no more than was to be expected from a neophyte – then she allowed him in.

She had spoken the truth, completely and unambiguously.

Her loyalties lay with Vulcan, and with Starfleet.

No outsider had tampered with her mind.

Spock withdrew from her, and told her what he had found.

Her mouth formed a small and fleeting smile. “I cannot say that the experience was pleasant, but it is a relief to know that I am… not as I had feared.”

 

“So, you’ve got three leads,” said McCoy as he twirled another forkful of pasta primavera. It was dinnertime, and McCoy had been at the Academy for most of the day. He had stopped at an Italian place on his way home and gotten their supper, then he had taken a quick sonic shower and changed into an old, Starfleet-issue t-shirt and soft, drawstring pants. As a result of these delays, the pasta had gone a bit mushy, not that Spock cared, really. He was home and McCoy had nothing to do all weekend. Spock was content.

“First there’s the husband, Mellik. Then there’s Mellik’s mentor, Kofek.” McCoy scowled. “I thought you said his name was Savan?”

“I have confirmed that ‘Savan’ is an alias. ‘Kofek’ may be, as well,” said Spock. “There was a researcher at the Vulcan Science Academy named Savan, a specialist in micro-gravity work environments. He left some decades ago to do field research. He returned shortly after the incident at Kaleb IV.”

“It doesn’t take Vulcan levels of deductive reasoning to figure that one out.”

“Indeed, Kofek almost certainly assumed Savan’s identity at some point. Their appearances were similar, and surgery would have supplied the remainder of the disguise. He does seem to have studied for the role. His colleagues praise his work. Mellik later went into the same field, and Kofek/Savan became his mentor. Together, they are the connection between Valeris and Cartwright. Kofek worked closely with Cartwright for years on the expansion of the Utopia Planitia Fleet Yards.”

“And Valeris would be inclined to trust her husband and his mentor. Which leaves the mystery colony where the rest of the Kaleb IV survivors went – if that even exists.”

“I believe it does. I have no record of Mellik being on Vulcan until his acceptance at the Vulcan Science Academy, and he has no family there. Kofek arranged the marriage between Valeris and Mellik. By that time, she was studying here. Her original betrothed had requested a dissolution of their union upon choosing a monastic vocation.”

“Do you think he chose Valeris because of her connection to you?”

“I think he saw an opportunity to ally his protégé with someone who had great potential to reach an important position in Starfleet. Although not many Vulcans join, those that do usually attain high rank. Valeris is more talented than most, and yes, she was associated with a high-ranking officer. I don’t believe that she was cultivated for any specific task. She was just another asset to be exploited should the need arise. Whatever game is being played here, I suspect it is a long one.”

McCoy got up and cleared their plates from the table. “So what’s your next step?” he called over his shoulder from the kitchen.

Spock also rose from his chair and took a new seat in an armchair near the fireplace. “More research. I will attempt to find the ‘mystery colony,’ as you call it.”

“It must be near the Neutral Zone, if it’s getting support from Romulus.”

“Indeed. However, that is a densely populated area. There are hundreds of habitable planets in those sectors.”

McCoy came and sat on the arm of Spock’s chair. “What about Savan or Kovek or whatever-his-name-is? It’s been years since Khitomer. He’s got to figure the heat’s off by now. Is there a way to keep an eye on him? He might just lead you right to what you’re looking for.”

Spock put an arm around McCoy’s waist and pulled him sideways into his lap. “A brilliant idea,” he said, before kissing McCoy on the mouth and along his jaw.

“Oh, of course,” said McCoy. “It’s quite elementary, my dear Watson.” He crossed his ankles over the arm of the chair.

“You have your doctors and your investigators confused.”

“Excuse me, I didn’t mean to step on your toes. I’m sure you have the whole thing completely planned out.” McCoy had managed to burrow one hand under Spock’s robe and was brushing circles through the hair on his chest.

“Indeed, I have been watching Kofek’s movements for some time now.”

“Well, we should be chasing hounds across the moors in no time, my dear Holmes. I look forward to seeing you in a deerstalker.”

Spock stroked McCoy’s leg from his hip to his foot. “It occurs to me that, unlike my ancestor’s fictional characters, you do not use endearments when you address me.”

“I’m protecting your delicate Vulcan sensibilities. Would you prefer I did call you pet names? Sweetheart?” McCoy kissed Spock’s neck just above the collar of his tunic. “Darlin’?” Another kiss, a bit higher up. “Baby?” McCoy placed a third kiss on Spock’s earlobe.

“Baby?” [ _repugnance_ ]

“No?” McCoy continued with the kisses and stroking, his hand coming tantalizingly close to Spock’s nipple. “Perhaps something food-related, like ‘Honey,’ or ‘Sugar?’” McCoy put his mouth next to Spock’s ear and whispered, “Pumpkin?”

“Decidedly not.”

McCoy chuckled. “Well, it’s not as if you use them either.”

“Any similar terms in the Vulcan language either fell into disuse long ago, or survive as mocking descriptors of emotional states to be diligently resisted.” Spock cupped McCoy’s jaw. “I do not care to use such terms with you.”

[ _your love honors me and I cherish it_ ]

“There’s always Human terms.”

“Do you wish to be addressed as ‘Pumpkin?’”

“Decidedly not,” said McCoy, chuckling. He moved his hand down and covered Spock’s heart. “I like it when you call me ‘husband’ though.”

“It is an accurate descriptor of our relationship.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t understand. Isn’t it rather lacking in sentiment?”

“It reminds me of all the things that bind us together. The choices and commitments, the history, all the things that make the sentiment possible.”

[ _trust, refuge, intimacy_ ]

“But what about you?” asked McCoy. “Do you want me to make up for all the times I’ve called you ‘hobgoblin’ with a few ‘snugglebunnies?’”

“Unnecessary,” said Spock. “Vulcans do not require such reminders of spousal affection.” McCoy opened his mouth to remind Spock of the obvious. Spock laid a finger on McCoy’s lips. “And your extravagant use of mind touch is more than adequate to assure this Human of your devotion. Why would I wish for words when you wantonly display to me the sentiment behind them?”

[ _desire, tenderness, fond exasperation_ ]

“Wantonly?”

“Your actions are entirely shocking to my Vulcan sensibilities.”

“I’m pretty sure that sensible Vulcans don’t drag their spouses into their laps,” said McCoy.

“If they do, they certainly don’t discuss the practice,” said Spock. He cupped McCoy’s head, one hand buried in his hair, the other stroking his jaw, and he kissed him. [ _sweet and thick_ _and_ _warm and heavy and familiar,_ _joy like flight like song, the tug of desire as deep and as powerful as an ocean current_ ]

Spock pulled McCoy’s shirt up and over his head, and discarded it on the floor next to the chair. He stroked McCoy’s back. [ _skin and_ _bone_ _, fingers_ _brush electricity into his spine_ ]

In the meantime, McCoy’s hand found Spock’s nipple and created some sparks of its own. Their kisses grew [ _wet deep_ _wild_ ] downright abandoned. Spock untied McCoy's pants and reached in. McCoy hadn’t bothered with underwear, expecting to be out of his clothes soon after dinner anyway. Spock gave McCoy’s penis a few gentle strokes, gathering information, measuring the evidence in his hand against the reports being issued by McCoy’s mind.

[ _aroused, but not sufficiently so_ ]

“Leonard,” said Spock, pausing long enough for McCoy to shift his attention to what Spock was saying. Spock didn’t speak often during sex, preferring to use their mental connection to give encouragement or show McCoy what he wanted. “Open your legs for me.”

Five little words, a simple and straightforward request, but they sent an intriguing jolt of arousal through McCoy. He complied immediately, sliding his leg off the armrest and letting his foot rest on the floor.

Spock took advantage of the access granted to him to cup McCoy’s balls in his hand.

[ _warm enfolding cradling_ ]

Spock’s fingers reached lower, applied gentle, rhythmic pressure to McCoy’s perineum. McCoy moved, pressing himself into the touch.

Spock resumed kissing him. He absorbed McCoy’s pleasure, added his own sensations of gratification [ _take these of me, my husband, pleasure and humor and joy_ ]

This time, when Spock stroked McCoy’s cock, it was heavier, warmer, harder, and the tip was lavishly slick with pre-ejaculate.

“Profligate,” said Spock. “Even your biology is extravagant.” He ran his thumb through the fluid. “You are as wet as the oceans of your world.” He brought his thumb up to his mouth and sucked. “As bittersweet and salty too.”

“Are we going to make out in this chair all night like a couple of teenagers?” asked McCoy, fully aware that Spock could feel the effect this sudden propensity toward speech was having on him, and that no amount of sarcastic deflection was going to change that.

“There are certain charms to re-enacting your juvenile exploits, particularly since Vulcan youths do not indulge in such experiments.”

“I’m shocked.” McCoy rolled Spock’s nipple between his fingers. “Which part did you want to try? The fumbling, the sloppy kisses, or the hilarious minor injuries?”

“Whichever one ends in you taking me. I long to have this--” He stroked McCoy’s penis from root to tip. “-- moving within my body.” Spock felt McCoy’s cock lurch in his hand.

“Jesus, Spock. If you keep that kind of talk up, you’ll be waiting ‘til morning.”

“Then you should keep my mouth otherwise occupied,” said Spock. He kissed McCoy again.

[ _wetness and suction_ _and_ _the taste of arousal_ ]

“Not making the situation better, I’m afraid,” said McCoy. He managed to lever himself out of the chair without losing his pants entirely, but it wasn’t pretty. “Well, there’s the fumbling part.” He leaned over the chair and kissed Spock’s forehead. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

When McCoy returned from the bedroom, he was naked and holding a bottle of lubricant. Spock had obediently stayed where he was – seated in the armchair with his tunic undone.

The bedroom was far enough away that their mental connection had broken, but Spock had no trouble reading the expression on McCoy’s face. McCoy clearly found Spock’s appearance appealing. McCoy knelt in front of the chair, and, setting the lube aside, he undid the fastener on Spock’s pants. Their minds joined as soon as he slipped his fingers under the waistband. [ _desire, attraction_ ]

McCoy removed Spock’s pants and underwear, sliding Spock’s hips further down the chair as he did so.

“I love seeing you like this,” said McCoy.

“Naked?” asked Spock.

“Hell yes, naked. But also aroused and slouching and so...  _messy_.” McCoy scooted closer to the chair, between Spock’s knees, and kissed the inside of Spock’s left thigh. “Improper.” He kissed and licked the inside of Spock’s right thigh. “Salacious.” McCoy waggled his eyebrow and grinned.

It was entirely illogical. Spock felt almost buoyant with sex and humor. He gave into it and laughed. “Funny, huh? You think you’re the only one with linguistic skills?” asked McCoy. He flattened his tongue against the base of Spock’s penis and licked up to the tip, then wrapped his hand around the shaft and tipped the head toward his mouth. [ _levity a_ _nd_ _sensuality_ _embrace and compete, eddy and flow_ ] McCoy licked just the head, swirling warmth and wetness around it before taking it in his mouth and gently sucking. Spock’s laughter turned to soft moans. Sensuality won this round.

Spock heard the click of the bottle opening. “Come towards me, just a little,” said McCoy, tugging Spock’s penis in the direction he wanted the rest of Spock’s body to go. Spock slouched lower in the chair until his backside cleared the edge. McCoy slid his lubricated fingers into Spock. [ _slick and teasing_ ] McCoy leaned his cheek against Spock’s thigh. [ _slight burn of stubble, breath ruffling the hair of his groin_ ]

“I could stay here all night,” said McCoy. “The sensory input is amazing.” [ _the fluttering pulse below his cheek, the sight of his fingers disappearing into Spock’s body, the scent_ _of arousal and musk_ ] McCoy inhaled deeply, removed his fingers from Spock, and stood, wiping his hands on his discarded t-shirt. “But you made a request, husband of mine, and I’m eager to fulfill it.”

McCoy certainly appeared eager. He had already applied lubricant to his cock, and it stood out from his body, slick and shiny, the tip as pink-purple and juicy as early plums. “Stand up, please, and turn around.”

Spock did as McCoy requested, and stood facing the chair. McCoy put his hands on Spock’s shoulders and removed the remainder of his garments. Kisses followed, starting at the neat line of Spock’s hair and down the length of his spine as McCoy returned to a kneeling position behind him. The final kiss landed on Spock’s coccyx. McCoy’s placed his hands on Spock’s hips. “Kneel, sweet-pea.” McCoy guided him down until he was on his knees, his body neatly fitted against McCoy’s.

[ _McCoy revels in Spock’s skin, warm back against his chest and stomach, smooth shoulders beneath his lips,_ _the changing texture of the hair under his palms as he strokes down Spock’s abdomen to his thighs and_ _up again_ ]

McCoy’s mouth brushed against the back of Spock’s ear. Spock gasped at the frisson caused by McCoy’s breath against that sensitive organ. “God, Spock,” McCoy murmured, his voice dark and sweet as buckwheat honey. “You are so damned aesthetically pleasing.” Spock huffed out a short laugh.

McCoy placed a hand between Spock’s scapulae and pressed him gently forward. “Lay your head in the chair, kitten.” Spock leaned forward and placed his folded arms on the seat to pillow his head. [ _eroticism, subversion, playfulness_ ]

McCoy placed his hands on either side of Spock’s rib cage and slid them slowly down over his waist to his hips. He kneaded the halves of Spock’s buttocks briefly before placing the tip of his penis against Spock’s entrance.

“Say it again, heart of my heart,” said McCoy. “Tell me what you want.” [ _voice like a black silk ribbon, unspooling into my ear and falling through my mind and coiling again cool against the base of my spine, confess for me_ ]

“I wish to be penetrated and held,” said Spock, “to feel your body within mine, surrounding mine.” [ _an act and an emotion, a desire and a need_ ]

“Yes, poppet, yes.” McCoy thrust slowly, smoothly in [ _home_ ]. He wrapped an arm around Spock’s waist and a hand around his cock. He pressed his forehead against Spock’s neck and laughed softly. [ _giddy_ ] “Yes.”

[ _home, your place on my world, in my world, my center, my heart, I have made a space for you, full of sea and sky, full of beds and meals, full of yesterday, full of all my tomorrows, you are welcome_ _d_ _wanted celebrated here, you are home_ ]

McCoy began to move, gliding languidly in and out. [ _a tide coming in, waves lapping gradually higher and higher_ ] He also continued to speak – sweet nonsense murmured down Spock’s backbone.

“Sweetheart. Love. Angel. Darlin'. Beautiful. Sunshine. You are gorgeous, and your ass is perfect, and your mouth is warm and kissable, and your brain is the color of uncut emeralds. Bet you didn’t know that. I’ll call you any old thing your heart desires, and I’ll cook for you, and I’ll make love to you, and I’ll even sing for you, if it’s what you want.”

McCoy began to punctuate his words with deep thrusts. “Because I am your husband, _beloved_ , and you are _mine_ , and that just makes me... _S_ _o._ _D_ _amned._ _H_ _appy_.”

[ _the words wrap around him, dark and soft, luminous and light, quick_ _and tender_ _, they invade_ _and fill and hold him, and the waves l_ _ap and nudge_ _them both_ _higher_ _until they dissolve into froth and glimmer_ ]

They both slid back until McCoy was seated on his ankles with Spock half sitting in his lap and half lying in the chair. McCoy remained draped over his back like a blanket, his arms still around Spock’s waist.

[ _emotions swirl gently around them, contentment and affection and_ _lassitude_ ]

“Shower?” asked McCoy eventually.

“Indeed. I’m surprised you felt the need to ask.”

“Go on then,” said McCoy, giving Spock’s perfect ass a light swat. “Get in there before there’s another mess to clean up. I’ll get the one under the chair and meet you in a minute.”

Spock sent McCoy one last image before he broke contact. [ _a plum, pink-purple and heavy with juice_ ]

“I’d sooner have you call me ‘pumpkin,’” said McCoy.

 

Spock spent the first three days aboard the Vulcan transport preparing his final report on the inclusion of Inferna Prime to the Federation. He had eleven more days to fill. He had confirmed, during this assignment, that his ability to endure tedium with equanimity was directly proportional to his access to McCoy’s company. Even on the relatively fast transport ship, the journey to Inferna had taken thirteen days to complete. Forty-two days had been required to meet every item on the Federation’s final checklist, and now they would be stopping at Tellar, adding one more day to the journey home.

Spock missed McCoy acutely. Separations such as this one had not grown easier over time. He found himself occasionally experiencing feelings of nostalgia for his days in Starfleet. It had been rare at that time to spend more than a few hours without seeing his husband.

And in those days, Kirk had also been nearby. Spock closed his eyes against the ache of loss. Such reveries were as pointless as they were inevitable, but thoughts of Jim would lead to thoughts of his mother, and he was reluctant to allow himself to indulge in emotion while on a ship full of Vulcans.

Spock sighed and tapped at the console in front of him, bringing up a series of star charts. Tellek, no doubt disturbed from his state of light meditation by this sign of rampant emotionalism, moved closer to inspect the charts as well. Tellek was acclimated to Spock’s eccentricities by now, and Spock reasoned that Tellek would also enjoy a distraction from his own desire to end this journey and be with his wife.

“May I suggest directing your search to the Tomed system?” asked Tellek.

“You may, of course. What is your reasoning?” asked Spock.

“I believe Dr. McCoy would call it a ‘hunch,’” said Tellek.

“Indeed?”

“Early Federation and Pre-Federation History has always fascinated me – the life of T’Pol in particular. When you opened the star chart, Tomed happened to be in my line of sight, and I remembered that she explored that system early in her career. The Romulan spy known as Talok was also a part of that mission. Commander T’Pol’s report indicated that the fifth planet in the Tomed system was remarkably similar to Vulcan, but its lack of valuable resources in addition to its proximity to Romulan-controlled space and its distance from Vulcan made it unsuitable for the establishment of a colony.

“However, it is perfectly situated for the purpose of establishing a covert Romulan outpost. It is distant enough from the Neutral Zone to avoid detection by routine patrols, and that sector is busy enough that extra traffic would be unremarkable.”

“You realize that ‘hunch’ does not mean ‘admixture of happenstance and lengthy explanation that I don’t care to recite at this time,’ do you not?” asked Spock.

“I did indicate that I was using Dr. McCoy’s definition of the term,” said Tellek.

Spock called up a chart of the sector surrounding the Tomed system. It was bisected by the line of the Neutral Zone. It contained seven systems on both sides of the zone, among them, Tomed and the Qualor system. Savan had worked on Qualor II for three years during the building of the surplus depot there.

“Thank you, Tellek. Tomed does appear to be a likely candidate. I will study it.”

 

***

 

“It’s nice to know that you and Tellek got a kick out of making fun of me when I wasn’t around to defend myself,” said McCoy.

“We merely noted your somewhat idiosyncratic definition of the term, ‘hunch,’” said Spock. “Unlike most Humans, you are well aware of the thought processes by which you arrive at certain conclusions. You simply don’t care to explain yourself in every circumstance. Once one accepts that your logic is usually sound, the habit may actually be viewed as... cute.”

“Cute?”

“Endearing, perhaps?”

McCoy just rolled his eyes.

Spock kissed his cheek. “You should rest before lunch,” he said.

“I concur with your assessment, Doctor.” said McCoy, getting up and heading toward the bedroom.

 

After a nap and lunch and a dose of tri-ox compound, McCoy was feeling much stronger. He paused to give Spock a long, sweet kiss before settling into place on the bench.

“I was thinking over lunch that it was during your trip to Inferna that the ‘Deltan Incident’ took place.”

“The Deltan Incident?” asked Spock.

“Yeah, that’s what everybody called it later. It shut down nearly a quarter of the diplomatic corps for a day or two. And it made the final days of your absence really hard – er, I mean difficult – to endure.”

 

***

 

“This is embarrassing. And Deltans do not embarrass easily.” The woman, Shara, made a wry face as McCoy ran the medical scanner over her.

“You’ve never incited an orgy before?” asked McCoy, as he checked the readout.

“Not accidentally, and not in the middle of a trade negotiation, no,” she said, smiling. “Wait, they’re not really..?”

McCoy chuckled. “No, but I suspect that a lot of people are going to have a very pleasant afternoon.”

“At least I’m not still projecting,” she said.

“Oh, you are,” said Dr. Thelles, leaning against the wall of the small exam room. “That’s why you’re in an isolation room at the hospital, and why the nurse summoned me. I’m here because I’m one of the few telepaths still on campus during the winter break, and I called in Dr. McCoy because I knew of no other physicians here who can block suggestions.”

McCoy glanced at Shara’s wet, parted lips and wished that he could block pheromones as well. Shara blushed. It would also be nice if his moods weren’t instantly readable by everyone else in the room.

“Well, there’s definitely a virus in your system, and there is heightened activity in your paracortex, to say the least,” said McCoy.

“It sounds like Zanthi Fever,” said Thelles.

“It sounds exactly like Zanthi Fever. Can Deltans get that?” asked McCoy.

“Oh, yes,” said Thelles. “Betazoid and Deltan brains are quite similar, physiologically. If anything, Deltans are more susceptible to it. Young, healthy Betazoids almost always fight the disease off before it reaches this stage. There was a widespread outbreak while I was doing research on Delta IV during my graduate studies.”

“I was on Betazed last week,” said Shara.

McCoy recalibrated the tricorder and scanned her again. “Zanthi Fever it is.” He prepped a hypospray with the appropriate anti-viral medication and administered it to smooth skin of her shapely upper arm. “This should take care of it. When does your ship leave?”

“In a couple of hours,” said Shara. “I’m sure that it was the letter I received from my lovers this morning outlining their plans for my homecoming that started this whole mess. If it hadn’t been for that, you would have had a roomful of diplomats with a sudden longing for home-cooked meals.”

“Well,” said McCoy, “let’s get you to your ship. You can finish your negotiation through teleconference, if there’s anyone left who can concentrate on textiles and precious metals. Then, I want you to take a bowl of soup and a mild sedative. Sleep and food are the best ways to fight a virus.”

“My mother will be happy to hear it,” said Shara, as she gracefully dismounted from the exam table.

McCoy and Thelles walked Shara to the nearest transporter room. “You should be asymptomatic by morning,” said McCoy, “but you may still be able to transmit the virus for a few days.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” said Shara. “I’m the only Deltan on the transport. I won’t be encountering any others until I transfer at Neubilia Prime.”

They arrived at the transporter room and Shara stepped onto the pad. “Thank you for everything, Dr. Thelles, Dr. McCoy.”

“Our pleasure,” said McCoy.

“Think nothing of it,” said Thelles.

“Good-bye, and you two have a... pleasant afternoon,” said Shara, meaningfully.

“Oh, we aren’t...” Thelles began to say, but she was already just a column of blue light.

“God, she smelled fantastic,” said McCoy softly.

“Sorry. I didn’t think about her pheromones. I forget that you’re attracted to both men and women.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure the folks who caught the full force of her psychic projections have it far worse than me.”

McCoy just wished that Spock wasn’t still four days away. He’d far rather be taking this energy home to his husband than his shower. A wave of loneliness washed over him, sudden and powerful. He shook his head as if to clear the feeling away.

“I’d better get home,” said McCoy. “I want to finish writing the chapter on Ithenites before Spock gets back.” He smiled at Thelles.

Thelles smiled back. “Of course. I need to get home myself. I’m in the middle of packing for a trip to Andoria. My father has been pressing me for a visit.”

“Well, have a safe journey. I’ll see you after the break.”

Thelles nodded. “I’ll see you then, Leonard.”

 

“The V’Shar wish to treat this as a purely internal matter, of course,” said Sarek. He and Spock were in Sarek’s home, some months after Spock had begun investigating Tomed V, discussing the intelligence that had been gathered on that planet. Long-range scans had revealed evidence of activity there consistent with a small outpost or colony.

“It is too late for that,” said Spock. “As soon as the Romulans involved Starfleet officers in their conspiracy, it became a Federation affair.”

“It’s clear that the point of these colonies, the one on Kaleb IV as well as the one on Tomed V, is to further their goal of claiming Vulcan for the Romulan Empire. The tie to the Khitomer Conspiracy is merely happenstance. They needed an operative in Starfleet quickly, and Valeris had already been groomed to follow Savan’s lead.”

“Whatever their original objective,” said Spock, “the result is that they have an unknown number of operatives who seem to be, or are, citizens of the Federation – operatives who can pass telepathic scrutiny – who, like Valeris, may not even be aware that their actions are being manipulated. What if Saavik had been compromised? The Romulans could have gained control of the Genesis technology.”

Sarek nodded. His arguments had merely been pro forma – meant to point out potential weaknesses in Spock’s logic, but he found none. “I’ll have Kessan arrange transport to Terra in the morning,” he said.

“If you are amenable,” said Spock, “Tellek has the _Yuron_ in readiness even now.”

 

Once the Federation President and the admiralty had been briefed, events moved quickly. It was decided to send an _Excelsior_ -class ship to Tomed V to investigate. Because of the likelihood of an attack by the Romulans on either the suspected colony or the starship, three _New Orleans_ -class ships were to be deployed nearby.

Sarek and Spock were also going, along with their aides, as representatives of Vulcan at the insistence of the High Council.

“What the hell do they need you for?” asked McCoy as Spock packed a bag. “You’re a Federation ambassador, not a Vulcan one, and since when are ambassadors needed at battles anyway?”

“The point of this mission is not to engage in combat, Doctor,” said Spock.

“Like hell it ain’t. You don’t send a starship and three frigates to collect soil samples.”

“The situation is delicate. In addition to those acting as agents of the Romulan Empire, there are likely many innocents involved.” [ _Saavik as Spock first saw her, gawky, barely old enough to have breasts under her cadet’s uniform_ ]

“Dirty pool, Spock,” McCoy growled. “Fine, then. I’m coming with you.”

“If my presence is superfluous, yours is doubly so.”

“Since when is a trained ship’s doctor superfluous in a battle?”

“Since he is my husband, whom I do not wish to see harmed,” said Spock.

“Sentiment,” said McCoy. “We go together, the way we always have.”

Spock drew McCoy into his arms. “Your arguments are deeply flawed, Leonard, or you would not bring up my own words meant to emotionally manipulate you, in order to emotionally manipulate me.”

“I’m still coming with you.”

 

McCoy wondered what Spock was thinking as they approached the huge ship. He and Tellek were piloting the _Yuron_ , while McCoy sat in the passenger section with Sarek and Kessan. McCoy didn’t have any opportunities for a subtle touch under those circumstances, and he was reluctant to shock the hell out of his father-in-law. Well, shock him any more than he already had. Sarek’s head was politely turned toward the opposite window, so McCoy was pretty sure that his own emotions at seeing the ship where Jim had died were written all over his face.

McCoy sighed. His behavior was unseemly, but this particular group of Vulcans were used to Human foibles by now. He concentrated on getting through the boarding of the ship. He and Spock could check on each other later.

They were in the shuttlebay now, and the door of the little craft opened. McCoy stepped out. He startled slightly at the sound of the boatswain’s whistle. Then he remembered he was a captain now. Spock, who was second out of the runabout, smoothly requested permission to board.

“Permission granted,” said the captain of the USS _Enterprise-_ B. “It’s great to see you, Ambassador Spock, and you too, Captain McCoy.”

“A simple ‘doctor’ is fine, Captain Koskinen,” said McCoy, gruffly. He was rewarded with the barest hint of smile, which went a long way toward calming his nerves. “May I present Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan, his aide, Kessan, and Ambassador Spock’s aide, Tellek.

Koskinen bowed to each of the Vulcans in turn. “Let me show you to your quarters, gentlemen.”

“How soon will we be underway, Captain?” asked Sarek.

“My First Officer is taking us out of spacedock as we speak, Ambassador,” she replied. “Once we are cleared, he will meet us in the conference room for the briefing.”

“I commend your efficiency, Captain,” said Sarek.

“I’ve learned a thing or two over the years about how Vulcans like to have things arranged,” she said.

 

“Drop us out of warp now, helmsman. Shields up. Take us the final distance nice and slow,” said Koskinen. Spock and Sarek stood near the Communications officer. McCoy waited in sickbay, “just in case.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Any sign of unknown ships in the area?”

“No, sir. Just the _Lisbon_ and the _Auckland_.”

“Open a frequency to the colony, Mr. Shea.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“The _Mombasa_ is within sensor range as well, Captain.”

“I’m hailing the colony, but they’re not answering.”

“Patch me through, Mr. Shea.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Tomed V colony, this is Captain Anniki Koskinen of the Federation Starship, _Enterprise_. Please acknowledge.”

“Captain! Two warbirds decloaking off the port nacelle! And three more straight ahead!”

“Incoming fire from the planet!”

“Evasive maneuvers, helmsman!”

Chaos. But a familiar chaos. Time seemed to slow. Spock braced for the impact and grabbed Sarek’s arm. His father wasn’t used to being on a starship's bridge in the heat of battle.

“Target the ground defenses! Tell the frigates to engage the warbirds, Mr. Shea!”

“Aye, Captain!”

“Warbirds firing!”

The entire bridge shook. Then shook again.

“Status report!”

“Shields holding at eighty-seven percent, Captain!”

“Target locked!”

“Fire!”

“Direct hit!”

“Two more warbirds decloaking!”

“Captain! They’re targeting the colony!”

“Lock torpedoes on the newcomers, Lieutenant.”

“Locking torpedoes.”

The bridge shook again.

“Captain, there’s a second ground array.”

“The _Lisbon_ reports two warbirds destroyed, and the _Auckland_ has neutralized another.”

“Torpedoes locked!”

“Fire torpedoes!”

“The _Mombasa_ has destroyed another warbird.”

“Shields at seventy-two percent.”

“Sir, the _Lisbon_ is targeting the second warbird attacking the colony.”

“Let them take care of it then. Target the second ground array.”

“Phasers locked.”

“Fire!”

“The crippled warbird has just destroyed itself.”

“Direct hit to the second array!”

“The _Lisbon_ and the _Mombasa_ have destroyed the last two warbirds. The _Auckland_ is badly damaged. They report heavy casualties.”

The battle was over in less than twelve minutes.

The clean-up took far longer.

Repairs were ordered. Backup forces were requested in case the Romulans returned. The _Enterprise_ took in most of the injured from the _Auckland_. All of the surgeons aboard, including McCoy, were busy.

Sarek, Spock, and Koskinen were in the conference room with the head of Security discussing how to secure the colony when the entire settlement exploded.  They had been observing the colony through the viewscreen.  Spock and Sarek both gasped in pain a split second before the first dust cloud became visible.  Koskinen's first move was toward the Vulcans, but Spock gave her a look and a little shake of his head to let her know that, despite appearances to the contrary, he and his father required no assistance.  

It only took a few minutes to ascertain that the colony and its inhabitants had been completely destroyed, apparently from within. 

 

“How did it happen?” asked Sarek, looking at the body of his aide lying in the ship’s morgue.

“He was thrown against a table during the last barrage,” said Tellek. “The impact on his cranium was severe. I escorted him immediately to the sickbay. Dr. McCoy attended him personally. He was attempting to alleviate the pressure on Kessan’s brain when the colony self-destructed. The trauma… of so many deaths… It was too much.”

Sarek nodded toward the crewman who had opened the drawer containing Kessan’s body. The crewman closed the drawer.

“Dr. McCoy sends his condolences. He is unable to attend you now. He will be in surgery for some hours,” said Tellek.

“Come,” said Spock. “There is nothing we can do here.”

They went back to Sarek’s quarters to wait and to keep abreast of the reports pouring in.

“I must send a message to his wife,” said Sarek, during a lull. “This will be difficult for her. She has just given birth to their son, and she is Human.”

“Perhaps it would be best to have someone on your staff take the message to her, someone who would be sensitive to her situation. She may require assistance,” said Spock.

“She need only ask.”

“A Vulcan woman would know that, and she would communicate to you any requirements she had. But a Human woman may not know every Vulcan custom, and she might not ask, even if she did. Humans are sometimes resistant to requesting aid,” Spock reminded him.

“I will ask T’Kara to visit her. She spent many of her formative years on Earth,” said Sarek.

The intercom sounded, and Tellek went to answer it. Spock could hear the captain say that a hospital ship, the _Blackwell_ , had just arrived.

“I will go and attend to Dr. McCoy,” said Spock. “It has been seventeen hours. He has no doubt exhausted himself.”

 

Within three days the _Auckland_ was repaired enough to limp home to the San Francisco Fleet Yards. Investigators from Vulcan and the Federation had arrived to sift through the rubble on Tomed V, and the Romulans were rattling their sabers over the discovery of a “Vulcan” colony being located “practically within the Neutral Zone.”

It was decided that McCoy would be returning to Earth with the _Auckland_. He wasn’t too happy about it.

“Are you sure you don’t need me?” he asked Spock.

Spock refrained from mentioning that there were more than enough medical professionals on hand to meet the needs of everyone involved. The _Blackwell_ had already departed with all personnel too injured to return to duty. It wasn’t the answer to the question McCoy was really asking.

Once McCoy had eaten and slept off his long shift in surgery, he had taken Spock back to their bunk and held him while Spock allowed the pain of the deaths on Tomed V to rise from under his suppression. The anguish as their _katras_ had been torn from their bodies had ripped through Spock and every other Vulcan present at the battle. It would be weeks before a final body-count would be issued, but the Vulcans knew exactly how many Vulcans had died. 3,456 had perished there. 1,679 were children.

Spock kissed McCoy. [ _two hearts broken and bleeding, the barest triage has been applied_ ]

“I will not deny that your continued presence here would be a great comfort to me, but you have your work, and I have mine. I need to remain here and find what answers I can for these deaths. You have a responsibility to your students,” said Spock.

“I don’t like it,” said McCoy.

“Nor do I, but I will be home as soon as I can.”

“If you’re not back by the end of the quarter, I’m coming to you.”

“Agreed.”

 

McCoy held a handful of papers, elaborately folded and sealed with what appeared to be a bit of the putty used to caulk leaky plasma conduits. A young Vulcan woman had handed it to him in his office at the Academy, informing him that it was from Ambassador Spock, and that she would return in the morning if he wished to send the Ambassador a message at that time.

After she left, McCoy opened the letter. It occurred to him that Spock’s signature was the only example of his handwriting that McCoy had ever seen before. It was surprisingly sinuous – almost, but not quite cursive – probably a result of having learned Vulcan script first. 

 

 

> Husband,
> 
> I wish to keep you informed of my activities here, but subspace channels are not entirely secure so close to the border with Romulus, and it is unknown which Federation codes they have deciphered and which they have not.
> 
> We have located thirty-eight survivors on the planet’s surface – individuals who were not in the main settlement at the time that it was destroyed. It is impossible to know their level of involvement in the activities taking place here. It does seem certain, though, that none of them knew that the settlement had been constructed in such a way as to have a self-destruct mechanism. Indeed, I doubt that the Romulan government knew either, or they would not have deployed warbirds to destroy the colony. The High Council has sent talented practitioners of Vulcan telepathy to interrogate the survivors.
> 
> The evidence we have gathered so far suggests that approximately 850 Romulans also perished here. It is clear that this colony was much larger than the one on Kaleb IV. The scope of their activities was also far broader, although the main focus remained the breeding of covert operatives, with the purpose of infiltrating Vulcan.
> 
> The Romulans know that they have committed an act of war. Pardek contacted me yesterday, and they are willing to treat with us. Isolationism is on the rise within the ruling classes of the Romulan Empire. They are unwilling to become embroiled in a war with both the Federation and the Klingons. Indeed, I cannot see how they could hope to win such a war, and it would certainly become a protracted affair that would cost billions of lives, both Romulan and Federation.
> 
> I must go now. T’Kara leaves again for Vulcan in three days. When she has seen to Kessan’s widow and child, she will bring this letter to you. I shall write to you again before she departs.
> 
> Yours,
> 
> Spock
> 
>  
> 
> Husband,
> 
> The negotiations will take place on Algeron IV in two days. Pardek represents the Romulans and he has requested that I be part of the delegation representing the Federation. In the interest of concluding these talks efficiently, I shall go to Algeron IV tomorrow.
> 
> I believe that the Romulans will agree to peace. Their chief concern seems to be that the Federation now has access to cloaking technology through our alliance with the Klingons. If we agree to a moratorium on pursuing this technology, we believe they will agree to an increased Federation presence along the Neutral Zone. We may be able to create a detente that will last for decades.
> 
> Spock
> 
>  
> 
> Husband,
> 
> I have time for but a few sentences before T’Kara leaves. She is kind to perform this favor for me, but all of the Vulcans who were here for the events at Tomed V share the same pain, and we all find our emotions are close to the surface at this time. It has created a terrible bond between us all.
> 
> I cannot help but remember the _Intrepid_. I remember that we argued. I also remember how you rushed to my side when you saw that I was hurt.
> 
> Promise me that you are eating.
> 
> Yours,
> 
> Spock 

McCoy stopped at the campus art supply depot on his way home. It was the only place he could think of to acquire paper or a writing instrument. It wasn’t necessary, of course. He wasn’t going to be giving away any state secrets. It just seemed to him that it was nice to have something Spock had touched recently to hold in his hand, and maybe Spock would like the same. 

 

 

> Dear Spock,
> 
> Don’t worry your pretty little head over my caloric intake. I assure you I am getting plenty to eat. Not that I have a choice. Jarin hauls my ass down to the cafeteria nearly every day, or he shows up with a bento box or a carton of noodles. It would be annoying if he weren’t so damn sweet about everything, all the time.
> 
> I finished the chapter on the Caitians last week. That was the last one on individual races. I’m starting in on the overview now.
> 
> I saw Sulu. Retirement seems to suit him. He got a place on the island of Kyushu. I guess he wanted to get to know Japan a little. There’s a hot spring there, and he invited us to come visit over the break.
> 
> I remember the _Intrepid_ too. I remember how it hurt me more to think of one Vulcan dying alone on a shuttlecraft than to think of hundreds of Vulcans dying on a starship. And I remember how I couldn’t open my damn mouth to wish you luck until you were too far away to hear it.
> 
> Good luck, Spock.
> 
> Come home soon.
> 
> Love,
> 
> Leonard

 

Spock was correct in his assessment of the time required to reach an agreement with the Romulan Empire. They were eager to withdraw from the affairs of the Alpha Quadrant, and they were willing to make large concessions to the Federation in exchange for the Federation’s promise not to develop a cloaking device for any of their ships. The Treaty of Algeron was signed within nine days. It began a period of relative peace in the Alpha Quadrant that would last for over fifty years.

McCoy took a long weekend so that he could meet Spock on Vulcan rather than wait for him to finish his business there and come home the following week.

Tellek came home to the news that one of the embryos he and his wife had created had implanted and he would be a father in nine months and one week.

Sarek was finally able to take a personal interest in the widow and child of his former aide. Over the following year, he found himself spending more and more time with Perrin and her son, Korik. At first it had merely been the discharging of a duty. The child was in need of the presence of Vulcans in his life, but eventually Sarek admitted to himself that he was in need of the presence of Perrin in his own. It was still another six months before he proposed to her.

 

At precisely noon, on the first warmish day of spring, Jarin Thelles appeared in the doorway of McCoy’s office. He held aloft a tiffin and a Thermos. “Picnic?” he asked.

“Jarin, it’s not even twenty degrees out there,” said McCoy.

“You can’t spend all day in this hot-house, Leonard. You need fresh air, a cool breeze to make the blood flow.”

“My circulatory system doesn’t work like that,” McCoy grumbled, but he grabbed his jacket anyway.

They found a bench overlooking the quad under a large, summer-deciduous, shade tree. It was even cooler here, but the direct sunlight wasn’t good for Thelles’ eyes. Already his glasses had darkened to their deepest shade.

McCoy sat back against the tree and pulled his knees up toward his chest, feet resting on the bench. He watched as the students laughed and talked, some playing with disks, some canoodling, some eating, some just wandering around and enjoying the relatively balmy weather. Thelles unpacked their lunch and poured them each a cup of milky chai.

He waved a bite of chapati and dal at the scene. “See? It’s a beautiful day.”

“If you say so,” said McCoy, knowing full well Thelles could read his true mood.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Then McCoy spoke. “I wanted to thank you for… everything you did last month. I was… I needed a friend, and you were there. I appreciate it.”

“It was my pleasure,” said Thelles, “although that makes what I’m about to say more difficult.”

McCoy’s brain scrambled through various horrible scenarios. “What is it?”

“Nothing dire, Leonard. I’m just moving is all – to Betazed.”

McCoy sternly told his hind-brain to calm the hell down. Amazingly, that worked – a bit. “Okay, back up a little. Are you being stationed there?”

“No, I’m resigning my commission. I’ll give them my month’s notice tomorrow. I wanted to tell you first.”

“I see.” McCoy took a swig of his tea. “Um. Why?”

“Why did I want to tell you first or why am I moving?”

“Why are you moving?”

“Ah, well, I’m not sure where to start. I wanted to tell you before, but you were so heartbroken over the Tomed incident and Spock being gone, I just couldn’t. I’ve been considering this for over a year now, and I suppose I could have told you that, but I needed to work this out for myself. I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” said McCoy. “Just start at the beginning. I’m all ears.”

Thelles chuckled. “I haven’t heard that one before – all ears. It’s a little disgusting to contemplate.” He took another bite of dal. McCoy let him compose himself.

“Do you remember the Deltan?” asked Thelles.

“The one who turned a trade conference into a giant make-out session? How could I forget?”

“You blocked her unconscious suggestions, but her elevated pheromones really got to you.” Thelles turned to look out over the quad. “Just after she left I felt a wave of emotion from you – desire, of course, but also sadness and loneliness since Spock had been away for quite awhile then. And for a moment, I wanted so badly to take you in my arms, to hold you, to comfort you… to take you to my bed.

“I ascribed it to the heightened emotions in the room and tried to forget about it, but I couldn’t. I suppose that sexual desire was always a latent part of what I feel for you – we are close and you are my target gender – but I had never noticed it.

“I came to Earth to heal after losing Magar. And I did. And our friendship was a large part of that. Just having someone so kind near me and knowing that you understood what I was feeling. There were times that I forgot you can’t read my mind, we are so… attuned to each other.

“But what happened with Shara reminded me that there are other things I want – a man in my arms, in my bed, at my table. Not that I want that from you, exactly. Pining after people I can’t have has never been my style. Though I can’t deny that, if circumstances had been different, we could have been excellent together.”

Jarin looked down and shook his head. “The point is. I’m ready to meet someone, and I’m not getting any younger, and telepaths tend to get to know one another faster. However, there aren’t many of us here.  So, reluctantly, I began to consider moving away. Betazed seemed the most likely place. There is plenty of work being done in my field there.”

“They have plenty of telepaths too,” said McCoy.

“So I’ve noticed.” Thelles smiled at McCoy, looking at him for the first time since he had begun to speak. “I began searching for work there, and I found a few places that were happy to have me. I finally chose one last month. I told them that I would start shortly after the semester ends here.”

McCoy set his lunch aside and took Thelles’ hand. He opened his mind and just left it there, an invitation if Thelles wished to take it.

[ _small and cozy, strong and embracing,_ _a love created in increments, in kindnesses, in shared food and shared sorrow and shared work,_ _flexible and enduring, a blue string – blue like glacial ice, like the sky above them – it will stretch easily across stars and years, it will_ _wind around their hearts and_ _squeeze_ _them_ _until they break_ ]

McCoy removed his hand from Thelles’ and they smiled at each other, the same gentle, compassionate smiles that neither was aware that they wore around the other. They finished their lunch while Thelles explained the project he was planning to do on Betazed.

 

***

 

“The Academy was never quite the same after that,” said McCoy.

“And yet, you stayed for another seven years,” said Spock.

“I was still finishing the book. And I know it’s strange, but I really didn’t want to give up the apartment we’d shared with Jim.”

[ _reminders of Jim, the furniture he’d chosen, the little garden he’_ _d_ _helped care for, other memories – Jarin framed by the tiny_ _flowers of the starveil while he praised McCoy’s cooking,_ _meals with friends,_ _long showers with hot water, and all the places where he’d made love with his husband._ ]

“I do not find it strange. My own logic was similarly flawed. What finally persuaded you to retire?”

“Lots of things. My hands had gotten to a state where even Nakaroth couldn’t repair them anymore. I know there’s a lot more to medicine than surgery, but it galled every time I had to pass it up. You were gone more often than not, and that was getting real tiresome.

“But I think the final straw was Chekov’s retirement party. Hell, he had more grey hair than I did. I was getting noticeable. I was looking at all of them – Chekov, Sulu, Uhura, Chapel – and I realized there was going to be some very uncomfortable questions once my former crewmates started dying off... and then I just felt sick. I had always been focused on being able to stay with you longer. It hadn’t really occurred to me that I would be attending their funerals. Sulu was rambling on about the things he wanted to do in the ‘few years he had left,’ and I was feeling guilty about the fact that I still had decades ahead of me.”

[ _soft wisps of white, soft loose skin over far too little_ _muscle_ _, this frail and failing_ _and precious body_ _that he holds against his own still_ _thriving flesh_ ]

“It’s not the same,” said McCoy.

“It is not entirely dissimilar,” said Spock. “When will we speak of this?”

“When we’ve finished recounting our autobiography. I promise.”


	11. Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy finally leaves Starfleet. For someone who had to be drafted back into service, it sure took him long enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a brief and not at all graphic mention of genocide in this chapter. If you still wish to skip it, it takes place in the telepathic (bracketed and italicized) section when McCoy and Spock are aboard the _Eriksson_ in orbit around Bajor.

When McCoy woke the next morning, Spock was sitting at the head of the bed, legs folded, naked as a newborn, meditating. McCoy rolled over and pressed a kiss to Spock’s thigh, nudging at Spock’s mind with his own.

[ _?_ ]

[ _I did not wish to leave your side_ ] Spock placed a hand on McCoy’s head and stroked his hair.

“We’re not pretending everything’s normal anymore,” said McCoy.

“It is illogical.” [ _don’t send me away_ ]

“We can do this any way you want.” [ _affection and empathy and remorse_ ]

“I will abide by your decision to postpone discussing this until we have completed the ritual, but I cannot comprehend why you continue to avoid the subject. That you do so troubles me.” [ _what do you fear?_ ]

“It’ll hurt you, and I can’t figure out how to fix that.” [ _how do I help you?_ ]

McCoy began to cough. Spock helped him into a sitting position.

“Tri-ox compound, Doctor?”

McCoy nodded, then flashed Spock an image of a second vial.

“And the antifibrotic?”

McCoy nodded again, still struggling to breathe.

Spock prepared a hypospray and administered it to McCoy. He sat with him until McCoy’s breathing calmed somewhat, using their connection to analyze the state of McCoy’s body. Aside from the labored breathing, McCoy mostly seemed to be experiencing weakness, hunger, and the need to urinate.

“I will assist you,” said Spock.

[ _resistance_ ]

“Allow me to help,” said Spock. [ _petition, duty_ ]

“Fine,” said McCoy. “I’d hate to be accused of being a lousy patient,” he grumbled as they made their way to the toilet.

After Spock helped McCoy to the sonic shower and assisted him in dressing, they had breakfast – _plomeek_ broth for Spock and French toast with strawberries and whipped cream for McCoy. Apparently, McCoy had also ceased behaving as if everything was normal.

“So, Admiral,” said Spock as they settled into their places in the garden, “you finally gave up Starfleet.”

“Some of the higher-ups knew about my ‘condition.’ They were making it increasingly clear that they wanted me out of sight and out of mind,” said McCoy. “I can’t blame them. If it were general knowledge that certain people could double their lifespans by visiting a plague planet, it would be chaos. I’ve never particularly liked keeping this a secret, but I understand. It was better not to have a bunch of clever medicos and research scientists asking how old Dr. McCoy was still so spry. When you add to that all of my personal reasons – well, I think everybody was ready for me to go – not that it was easy.”

[ _leaving the apartment – the last connection with_ _J_ _im,_ _leaving the students – their angst and drama and vitality, leaving the work –_ _the meaning and justification of his life_ ]

“It was far too arduous a task to convince you that you are more than your utility,” said Spock. “I do not believe I ever fully accomplished it.”

“I think it’s one of those things you need to figure out for yourself,” said McCoy. “Let me know if you ever accomplish that.”

[ _is this your worry?_ ]

McCoy picked up Spock’s hand and kissed it.

[ _one of them_ ]

“At least Julia made it easier to give up the apartment,” said McCoy.

 

***

 

“Thanks for this,” said Julia. “I think we’ve looked at every house and apartment in the greater San Francisco area over these last two months. I knew it would be difficult for her to find a place with the right… atmosphere, but this is getting downright tedious.”

McCoy and Julia stood in the kitchen watching a tall, graceful Argelian woman with dark, grey-streaked hair wander around the main living space. McCoy was of the opinion that the salt-and-pepper look was far more attractive on her than it was on him.

“What does Ms. Varo do?” asked McCoy.

“Dr. Varo. She’s a mathematician. She’ll also be teaching at the Academy.”

Julia had decided to retire from field duty to teach. She had spent the last eight years attached to the Federation Embassy on Argelius II. That’s where she had met Silla. They had lived together on Silla’s homeworld, and now that Julia wished to return to Earth, Silla had chosen to come with her. The problem was that Silla was one of the few Argelians who could sense psychic impressions left on inanimate objects. It made her very choosy when it came to living spaces and the items in them.

Right now, Silla was running a hand over a particular chair near the fireplace. She appeared to find it somewhat entertaining. McCoy blushed slightly.

“As you can guess, potential landlords do not find this behavior amusing,” said Julia.

Silla stepped out onto the balcony. She sniffed the lavender and grinned at the starveil before coming back in. She poked her head into the main bedroom, then hurriedly poked it back out.

Julia bit her lip. “Oh, that’s not a good sign,” she said. “Did you murder someone in there?”

“It’s my bedroom,” said McCoy, dryly.

It was Julia’s turn to blush.

Silla approached the second bedroom with a bit more caution. She rested her hand on the wood of the old-fashioned door for a moment before opening it and stepping inside. When she stayed in there, Julia and McCoy went to check on her.

Silla was sitting on the bed smiling at something only she could see. “This was your _fea zel’s_ room,” she said. “He was much loved.”

McCoy looked at Julia, but she seemed to be just as confused as he was. “It was Jim’s room for awhile, before he died,” said McCoy.

“Oh,” said Julia, as though that explained everything. “Yes, Silla, this room belonged to their _fea zel_ , and they were very close to him. Everyone who knew them remarked on it.”

“They did?” asked McCoy.

“Yes, they did,” said Julia. “’ _Fea zel_ ’ means ‘man who lives in my heart’ – sort of a close, life-long, platonic partnership. It’s something the Argelians value highly. They would definitely characterize your relationship with Captain Kirk in those terms.”

“Julia is my _fea shel_ ," said Silla, looking fondly at her.  "I like this room. The impressions have faded, but this Jim was a kind person, and a wise one, I think.” She looked at McCoy. “The affection he felt for you is all over this room.”

“I suppose it would be,” said McCoy.

“That other room is a bit… intense,” said Silla. “You can have it, Julia.”

“Does that mean you want to live here?” asked Julia.

“Oh yes,” said Silla. “And if you don’t want the furniture, I would like to take that too,” she said to McCoy. “It could take years to fill this place otherwise.”

That settled, they filed the necessary forms with the Office of Housing on the following Tuesday and transferred the apartment from McCoy to Julia and Silla. With the furniture staying behind, it only took a couple of days for McCoy to pack his and Spock’s personal items – clothes, books, artworks – and put everything on the next cargo transport to Vulcan.

 

“Leonard!”

What appeared to be an animate pile of laundry came barreling into the courtyard. McCoy bent and scooped it up into his arms before it could go barreling into any testicles – a defensive maneuver with which he had a great deal of practice.

The laundry turned out to be a small Vulcan child in a slightly too-big robe.

“Read to me?” asked Korik.

“Of course,” said McCoy, setting him back down. “Go get your book. Slowly. Spock and I are here all evening, you know.”

Perrin had come to the courtyard to welcome them. She ushered them into the house.

“You spoil him, Leonard,” she said.

“That’s what… brothers-in-law are for,” he replied, grinning.

She nodded to Spock. “Welcome. May I offer you anything?”

“I have all that I require, madam,” said Spock. “Thank you.”

Sarek and Perrin had been married for six years now, but she and Spock had never moved beyond polite formality.

Korik was already waiting in the large main room of the house with his battered copy of _The Little Prince._ McCoy sat on one of the padded benches, and Korik climbed into his lap.

“I’ll let Sarek know you’re here,” said Perrin, disappearing through a doorway at the other end of the room.

Spock sat on a nearby bench to wait. He was soon nearly as entranced by the sound of McCoy reading as Korik was.

“The mass of that planet is too small to support an atmosphere,” declared Korik. “There is not enough gravity.”

“True,” agreed McCoy.

“How does the Prince breathe? Why doesn’t he float off into space?” asked Korik.

“This is a fantasy story, remember? The laws of physics don’t apply. Anything the author wants to happen can happen.”

“Illogical. Why would the author want the Prince’s planet to be so small? Nobody learns anything about planets from this book.”

“There are plenty of things you can read if you want to learn about planets and mass and gravity,” said McCoy. “It sounds like you’ve already read some of them.”

“What is the point of a book that tells you about things that cannot happen?” asked Korik.

“To make you ask questions.”

“I have lots of questions. Where does he get water for his flower? Or a watering can?”

“You asked a better question before,” said Spock.

“What is the point of a book that tells you about things that cannot happen?” asked Korik.

“That was a good question, but Dr. McCoy answered it already.”

“Why would he make the Prince’s planet so small?”

“It took me many years to answer that question,” said Spock. “The point of a book like this is to make you ask questions that require contemplation to answer.”

Korik nodded solemnly, and McCoy went on with the story. Korik was frowning at the idea of birds flying in space, the questions clearly building up in his mind again, when Sarek entered the room.

“Is it logical to have Dr. McCoy read to you a book that you can read for yourself?” Sarek asked, raising an eyebrow.

Korik seemed to have expected this question and was prepared to defend his actions. “Yes, it is. When Dr. McCoy and I read the book together, we can talk about it. He knows exactly what parts I have questions about because he just read them. And his voice makes a nice sound.”

“Your argument has merit,” said Sarek. “The work is more efficiently discussed when you both know to which passages you are referring.”

Korik’s lips twitched slightly as he worked to keep from smiling at this praise.

After dinner, Korik was sent to his room to meditate and prepare for bed. The adults discussed the affairs of the Alpha Quadrant – specifically, the recent actions of the Cardassians.

“They’ve established a military base on Bajor,” said Spock.

“One wonders why the Bajorans allowed it. They have no love for the Cardassians,” said Sarek.

“While Bajor is, by far, the older and more sophisticated culture, they have not directed their energies into the technological advancement of weapons.”

“They’re outgunned, you mean,” said McCoy.

“Precisely,” said Spock.

“Can’t they ask the Federation for help?” asked Perrin.

“They can,” said Sarek, “and they would receive it if they were willing to become a protectorate of the Federation, but the Cardassians would no doubt view that as an act of aggression. Bajor is currently unallied with either the Federation or the Cardassian Empire. I believe they wish to remain neutral.”

“With the situation between the Federation and the Cardassians becoming increasingly hostile,” said Spock, “I am convinced that they cannot do so. Their location is not particularly strategic, but their planet is rich in resources that the Cardassians will need if they are to increase their fleet.”

“Another perfectly nice little world with the misfortune of having something the local bully wants,” said McCoy.

“It is logical,” said Sarek. “With the Klingons struggling to rebuild their infrastructure, the Romulans regrouping, and the Federation concentrating its resources on exploration, it is the perfect time for expansion. The Tzenkethi have no interest in conquest, and the Breen will choose easier targets far from their border with Federation space. Ferenginar hasn’t the strength. That leaves Cardassia, and they are, as Dr. McCoy puts it, bullies – as aggressive as the Klingons ever were.”

“Worse,” said Spock. “At least the Klingons do not salt the earth behind them when they leave.”

 

It was snowing in the southern-most reaches of Betazed on the day of Jarin Thelles’ wedding to Willem Fetz of the Fifth House of Betazed. However, it was quite warm in the ancient stronghold of the Fifth House, which was centrally heated and well-supplied with fireplaces to ward off the extreme conditions of a climate that sometimes dipped as low as five whole degrees below freezing.

The old keep was no longer needed for the defense of the Fifth House’s interests in the region, and hadn’t been for nearly a thousand years. Now it served as a lodge and banquet facility for the descendants of those ancient nobles. It was very popular for weddings.

When McCoy joined Thelles in the anteroom off of the main hall, Thelles was already ‘dressed’ for his wedding. He had stepped out onto one of the balconies, no doubt in pursuit of fresh air. Fat, white flakes fell around him, giving the scene beyond the glass window the appearance of being inside a snow globe.

McCoy grabbed a purple blanket from the sofa and threw it over his own, much more fragile skin before stepping out onto the balcony.

“Nerves?” asked McCoy.

Thelles chuckled at McCoy’s fleeting memory of Jim Kirk asking him the same thing on his own wedding day.

“Only about being the most noticeable naked person in a room full of naked people,” said Thelles.

McCoy grinned. “I suppose my blue eyes won’t be quite the eight-day wonder compared to your blue hide.” He shook his head. “And I thought Vulcan formal wear was bad.”

“The lengths a man will go to for love.” Thelles smiled at McCoy. “I’m so glad you and Spock came.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

McCoy shivered.

“Come on,” said Thelles, “let’s get you back inside before you freeze to death.”

They went in and stood near the fire. Thelles stared at the flames. McCoy waited to see if Thelles wanted to talk about the thing that was obviously on his mind.

“May I share?” asked Thelles.

“Go ahead.”

[ _an_ _A_ _enar, white as snow, ethereally beautiful with high cheekbones and strange wide-spaced eyes, he wears a long white embroidered and crystal-studded tunic fitted to his waist then flaring as it falls to the middle of his calf which is covered in white fur-lined boots_

_Jarin on this day I pledge to you the warmth of my body the aid of my hand and the love in my heart for as long as I draw breath_

_his heart swells with love and pride and gratitude_ ]

“I’ve thought often of him these last few weeks,” said Jarin.

“That’s only natural,” said McCoy.

“I know. I just needed someone else to acknowledge how much I loved him, and there’s no one here I could share that particular memory with.”

“Not even Willem? He doesn’t strike me as the jealous type.”

“He’s not. And he’s a widower too, so he does understand. It just seems wrong somehow to show him exactly how much I loved another man. I don’t think I’m ready to see that from him yet, either.”

Thelles’ antennae turned toward the door to the main hall. “They’re ready for us now,” he said.

They stood at the door, waiting for the attendant to open it, Thelles in front of McCoy. McCoy slid his mental shield into place. It wasn’t terribly strong, but it should keep his stray thoughts from being picked up by a roomful of strange Betazoids. It wasn’t, however, enough to keep them from Jarin.

“Stop looking at my butt, Leonard.”

“It’s blue, and dimpled, and your damn braid points to it like an arrow,” said McCoy.

“Your butt is surprisingly nice too,” said Jarin, trying to suppress his laughter.

“What the hell do you mean by ‘surprisingly?’”

Thelles turned back to McCoy. “I mean ‘not at all surprisingly,’ and ‘thank you for everything.’”

“You’re welcome.”

The door opened.

The ceremony was a bit long in McCoy’s opinion, with lots of nattering on about the twenty-eight kinds of love recognized by Betazoids and how love is the greatest force in the universe and love had brought everyone together today, but he surmised from the slightly inward-looking expressions on everyone’s faces that there was plenty of telepathic content that he wasn’t privy to. Not that he minded – one-on-one mental contact with someone he knew and trusted was one thing; mental contact with sixty strangers was something else entirely.

He spotted Spock standing at parade rest near the door where he and Jarin had entered. A tall, handsome, young Betazoid woman seemed to be guarding him, effectively creating a little bubble of space around him.

His attention was called back to the ceremony. There was some business with sharing food and drink, the officiant (rather enthusiastically) sprinkled water on the couple, there was a bit of call and response with the assembly, and they were on to the vows, which, after all that, turned out to be surprisingly short.

“Do you, Willem, promise to remember the love you feel for Jarin on this day, to nurture it with compassion, patience, and goodwill so that it may last to the end of your days?” he asked.

“I do,” said Willem.

“And do you, Jarin, promise to remember the love you feel for Willem on this day, to nurture it with compassion, patience, and goodwill so that it may last to the end of your days?”

“I do,” said Jarin.

“Then I do declare you joined. No one can undo what you have done this day but you. May fortune grant you a long and joyful love.” The officiant raised his hands in the air. “Beloved, you may embrace!”

Apparently, this applied to everyone. While Jarin and Willem alternated between kissing and smiling beatifically, the rest of the gathering turned to their loved ones – partners, friends, children – and threw their arms around each other.

McCoy walked over to where Spock stood. He held out the first two fingers of his right hand. Spock returned the gesture. Everything that was not this point of contact receded. [ _an island of calm surrounded by the noisy joy of the_ _B_ _etaz_ _oi_ _ds, their jubila_ _tion_ _lapping at the shore_ ]

“You two are just the sweetest things!”

McCoy looked away from Spock to the woman he had spotted earlier, standing next to him. She was grinning at them as if they were sleepy kittens and she had just discovered kittens.

McCoy broke his physical contact with Spock in order to offer her his hand. “Leonard McCoy, ma’am,” he said smiling back at her.

She took his hand and shook it enthusiastically. “Lwaxana Troi, Fifth House of Betazed,” she said, not letting go of his hand.

“Ms. Troi has been gracious enough to… keep me company while we waited for the ceremony to begin,” said Spock. [ _she is irritatingly talkative but good-natured and she has been keeping people from touching me for which I am grateful_ ]

“That was very kind of you,” said McCoy.

“Think nothing of it,” she said, beaming. “So what was that?” She dropped McCoy’s hand and touched the first two fingers of her right hand to the fingers of her left.

“It is a ritual gesture of solidarity between spouses,” said Spock.

“Wild stuff, ain’t it?” said McCoy

“I’m sorry I asked,” said Lwaxana. “It was more romantic when I didn’t know.”

“Most things are,” said McCoy.

People were starting to leave the room. McCoy took that as a sign that they could go put their clothes back on now.

 

Spock and McCoy had a room at the top of the southeast tower. Someone had lit the fireplace here already, which was thoughtful of them, since the towers were otherwise unheated. It didn’t make the room warm, exactly, but it took the edge off the cold. McCoy, exhausted after hours of food, drink, and dancing, collapsed onto the bed, setting it in motion.

“I haven’t slept on one of these in ages,” said McCoy, bobbing gently up and down on the waves.

Spock regarded the rippling surface of the bed. “It is filled with liquid.”

“I assume it’s water,” said McCoy. “These were popular on Earth a few hundred years ago. Some people still like them. There was this girl I dated in med school… Well, never mind that.”

“I suppose it is sensible. The thermal mass would allow for efficient heating of the bed, accommodating the occupants in comfort without the need to heat the entire room.”

“Knowing Betazoids, the fact that they’re fun to have sex on was probably the main motivating factor.”

“Indeed?”

“So I’ve heard,” said McCoy.

“It is an interesting hypothesis. It requires further investigation to support it, of course, but I would be willing to assist you in gathering data on the subject.”

“Damn, Spock, you silver-tongued devil. You know I can’t resist that kind of sweet-talk.” McCoy stood up and kissed his husband. “Right now, though, the only thing I’m up to testing is how many Z’s I can catch on that thing. Dibs on the shower.”

By the time Spock had finished his own shower, McCoy was sound asleep. Spock climbed into the gently undulating bed, pulled McCoy partway onto himself, and fell asleep holding him against his chest.

McCoy awoke some hours later, still lying on Spock. Betazoid wine was fizzy, sweet, and very light in alcohol, but McCoy had drunk a fair quantity of it, and it had gone straight through him. When he came back from the bathroom, Spock was awake. McCoy snuggled back into his spot under the warm covers.

“Sorry to wake you,” he said, softly.

“It is inconsequential,” said Spock. “It is common for humans to urinate more frequently as they age.”

“My renal system is fine, thanks. Just because some people only need to piss once every thirty-six hours...” he grumbled.

They lay quietly for a few more moments, then McCoy spoke again. “What’s eating you?”

“It is illogical,” said Spock. [ _Jarin and_ _W_ _illem_ _, their hands joined, smiles wide_ ]

“I don’t think that’s it.” [ _Sarek and_ _P_ _errin, kneeling, fingers touching_ ] “That’s it,” said McCoy.

“He replaced her,” said Spock.

“He was only 148. It’s expected for Vulcans who are widowed that young to remarry.”

“I anticipated that he would marry a Vulcan woman,” said Spock.

“That would have made a difference?”

“It would have been merely a sensible measure taken to accommodate a biological necessity.”

“But marrying a Human means that there may have been sentiment involved.”

“I told you it is illogical.”

“I didn’t like it either, when my dad started dating,” said McCoy. “Hell, I was meaner than a sack of wildcats to some of those poor ladies. At least you’re polite to Perrin.”

“I don’t believe that there is any great honor in behaving oneself with more dignity than a preadolescent Human.”

“My point is, don’t beat yourself up about it. Your reaction is perfectly normal.”

[ _would you replace me?_ ]

“Well,” said McCoy, “I’m pretty sure the only person I’d have a shot with just married someone else today.”

“It is not a question of what is possible.”

“I’ve never really thought about it. I’ve always assumed that I would die first. That’s the likeliest scenario. I take it you’ve been thinking about it though.”

“After seeking _kolinahr_ , after my encounter with V’ger, I chose to allow myself to feel. I made that decision because my connection to you and to Jim and to the others gave me an understanding of my place in the universe, and the nature of that connection was – is – an emotional one. What will happen when the last of those connections is severed?”

[ _adrift alone_ ]

McCoy scooted up higher on Spock’s chest, and leaned up on his forearm so that they were face-to-face.

“Are you trying to tell me that your connection to one man is worth more than the thousands of connections you’ve made over your life?” asked McCoy.

“Do you not see what we share?”

McCoy kissed Spock and laid open his fierce and mangled metaphorical heart.

[ _there is no way to number the times that McCoy has emptied this vessel and Spock has filled it, with light with song with affection with faith, no way to number the times this heart has absorbed Spock’s most intense emotions, McCoy will break it open if he has to in order to accommodate them, no way to number the patches, the sutures, the strips of gauze that hold it together because to allow the torn and broken places to scar over is unacceptable to McCoy_

_there is no way to number the shared meals, shared beds, shared spaces, no way to number the times they have nurtured each other with food and sex and music and touch and the deep comfort of presence_

_there is no way to number the arguments, the debates, minds racing, exhilarated at the flow of thought, the exercise of intellect, the unsuspected vistas suddenly open_

_there is no way to measure the forgiveness granted, contrition felt, grace extended, there is no way to measure the space given, the wide detours around faults and sore spots and weaknesses, no instrument delicate enough to slip between them when they hold each other close_

_there is no counting the threads that tie them together, that they have woven over years into something thick and elastic, unbreakable now except by death_ ]

“I see it,” said McCoy.

“Then you understand that it is irreplaceable,” said Spock. “You are irreplaceable.”

“That doesn’t mean that you can’t make other connections. Jarin showed me Magar today, showed me their wedding day and all the love he felt for him. It wasn’t replaced by what he has now with Willem. I don’t think that Sarek feels less for your mom now that he has Perrin either.”

“Are you encouraging me to take another spouse should you predecease me?”

“I’m encouraging you to take whatever you need.”

[ _I can’t bear to think of you at the bottom of the ocean_ _or brutalized by the storm_ ]

Spock sighed and pulled McCoy closer. “Is this typical for Humans?” he asked.

“The emotions you’re feeling are normal. I can’t answer for the intensity,” said McCoy.

“Perhaps this emotional state was known before the Awakening. There may be answers among the ancient texts.”

“You’re not sure you can live without me, so you’re going to do research?”

“Indeed. That is exactly what I plan to do.”

“I see,” said McCoy. “Well, you won’t be studying any forgotten lore tonight, and it seems to me you promised to help me explore the possibilities of this bed earlier.”

[ _comfort, pleasure, touch_ ]

Spock saw what McCoy had in mind. “We must leave in nine hours.”

“We can sleep on the transport.”

[ _need, desire, contact_ ]

“That does not seem to be an activity that would afford many opportunities to observe the hydrodynamic properties of our sleeping surface,” said Spock.

“I’m too old to fight beds that fight back,” said McCoy. “The nice thing about a waterbed is the lack of pressure points.”

McCoy stripped out of the t-shirt and underpants he had worn to bed. Careful not to set the bed into too much motion, McCoy knelt with his knees on either side of Spock’s waist. He leaned forward until his chest was pressed to Spock’s. “This way,” he said, sending an image of Spock rolling them both over onto their sides. Spock complied. McCoy wound his arms and legs around him.

It was a position they had utilized countless times – standing up with McCoy clinging to Spock like one of McCoy’s ancient primate ancestors clinging to a limb – or lying down with McCoy under Spock, pulling Spock’s body closer and deeper within his own. Side-by-side on this strange surface though, it became a position that was less about leverage (as if one could get any purchase on this bed anyway) and more about contact. The water accommodated McCoy’s thigh under Spock’s waist in a way that solid beds could not. It was the same for Spock’s arm under McCoy’s ribs. Spock pulled his knees up until the tops of his thighs were touching McCoy’s ass, his cock fitted along the cleft. McCoy dragged the covers over both of them.

[ _rocked and cradled,_ _warm, snug, intimate_ ]

McCoy stroked Spock’s skin, this skin that Spock kept covered, kept away from others. Spock hadn’t enjoyed being naked today, not because of what others saw, but because he hadn’t wanted to be touched. Like any Vulcan, he preferred to have some layer between himself and contact with others.

But McCoy had always been an exception. Even before they were lovers, Spock hadn’t minded McCoy’s touch – the casual grasping of his forearm or shoulder, the brush of fingers as he handed something to Spock, or the feel of McCoy’s hands as he applied balms or bandages to Spock’s wounds.

As challenging as McCoy himself could be, his touch had always been soothing and kind.

McCoy shifted his leg a little lower in order to gain enough access to stroke Spock’s stomach and hip. Spock absorbed the sensory information gathered by McCoy’s hand. [ _chest hair crisp and rough, slick where it narrows into a line down his belly, the skin on the side of his torso smooth where it covers the ripples of his rib cage and the soft layer of fat at_ _his_ _waist,_ _the hard jut of hip bone in the palm of his hand_ ]

McCoy reached between their bodies and adjusted his cock [ _soft_ _still_ _but thick and heavy_ ] so that it lay comfortably pressed between their bellies. He placed his hand on the back of Spock’s neck, closed his eyes, and breathed.

[ _they are warm, soft blankets shelter their naked bodies from the chill air,_ _warm water supports them, time and space are infinite and cold – as much as minds made of flesh, fed by blood, protected by bone can understand such a thing,_ _McC_ _oy and_ _Sp_ _ock know this – so they_ _create a haven made of nothing more than blankets and body heat and touch, and here they breathe_ ]

Slowly, their breathing patterns synchronized. Spock assumed that their heartbeats would as well, if their separate physiologies could have allowed it. Instead, their heartbeats fell into a harmonious rhythm, with McCoy’s heart stressing every third beat of Spock’s.

[ _McC_ _oy has always delighted in this commonplace miracle, hearts beating, blood flowing, lungs expanding and contracting, because_ _McC_ _oy delights_ _S_ _pock delights as well_ ]

Their movements were minute. McCoy’s fingers stroked a few centimeters of Spock’s hair. Spock rubbed a little circle in the middle of McCoy’s back with his palm.

[ _these small sensations – soft hair, delicate skin, hard bones – they amplify them, build on them, create sky and deep sea from them, from every point of contact stars are born, tiny and electric and singing, they light this smaller kinder warmer universe, this fluid and timeless space_

_data from skin on palms on thighs on stomachs, on lips as they occasionally meet, on chests as they move with respiration – information moving languidly up nerves, singing along spines, bursting and flowing into their minds to be wrapped in further stimuli and sent back along the same pathways, growing slowly incrementally deliberately_

_affection_

_want_

_pleasure_

_touch_

_breath_

_looping and circling back in a gently growing spiral_

_it goes on for hours days years centuries, it is never ending..._

_...until it all implodes, collapsing back on itself, and what was an entire universe seconds ago is concentrated focused at the centers of their bodies_

_cocks like heated stones_

_it requires only one short thrust, one glide of McCoy's penis through the wet mess that has been accumulating between their bellies for god knows how long…_

_…it is like dissolving, as if their_ katras _have escaped between the molecules of their bodies and flow liquid and warm together, and on the next breath they are whole again_

 _eyes open, dark brown and sky blue, mouths smiling, kissing_ ]

McCoy glanced at the chronometer. “Transport leaves in four hours,” he said. “That gives us just about enough time to get untangled.”

“Might I remind you that it was you who chose this position,” said Spock.

McCoy muttered something about smug husbands as he wriggled his pinned limbs free, setting the bed sloshing. He went into the bathroom to get rid of a little more Betazoid wine and wash up. He came back out with a warm washcloth and cleaned Spock up too, before climbing into the bed and settling his back against Spock’s chest.

 

***

 

“Lwaxana would always say that y’all got on so well because meeting someone for the first time when you’re in the buff creates a special bond,” said McCoy.

“I’m inclined to believe that we agree on most matters because, despite her emotionalism, she possesses a quick and practical mind,” said Spock. “Her solutions are remarkably effective.”

“Witness the way she protected you from the horrors of skin-to-skin contact with total strangers.”

“I’m sure I could have withstood it,” said Spock. “But it was kind of her.”

McCoy patted Spock’s hand and stood up. “I’m going to go lie down for awhile before lunch,” he said.

“May I accompany you?”

“Of course,” said McCoy, offering his hand.

 

McCoy ended up sleeping rather longer than expected, so they started their afternoon session a few hours later than usual. McCoy keyed a command into the household computer to adjust the shade on the western wall in order to keep the sun from beating directly on their spot on the bench. The household computer only knew Vulcan, and while McCoy spoke the language fluently, his accent was thick enough that the computer had difficulty with his voice commands.

“We got around, back in those days,” said McCoy as they settled in. “Risa, Babel, Betazed, Pacifica, Denobula, and about a hundred other planets seeking alliances with the Federation.”

“I believe you toured the medical facilities on nearly every one of them,” said Spock.

“They were always eager to show their hospitals to the Federation doctor. That was nice. Made me feel useful.”

“The Academy offers an entire class on your ambassadorial reports, Doctor, and they are required reading in all of the medical programs. I believe your time studying alien medicine could be classified as objectively useful.”

“Yeah. I was just fishing for a compliment,” said McCoy.

“One would think that an entire wing of the Starfleet Medical Teaching Hospital would be praise enough.”

McCoy shrugged. [ _I like impressing you more_ ] “It’s a very nice wing. I remember thinking so when I toured it.”

 

***

 

“I will accompany you, if I may,” said Korik. “I have an appointment with Dr. Varo.”

“Sure,” said McCoy. “I didn’t know you were taking classes at the Academy.”

“I am in an accelerated program for Mathematics.”

“I see,” said McCoy as they started out to the nearest transport station.

Perrin and Korik had taken a residence on Earth about two years previous when Korik expressed a desire to attend the Federation School in Berkeley. The school had students from all over the Alpha and Beta Quadrants – children of Starfleet officers and Federation diplomats, mostly. Sarek was initially against the idea, but when it came out that Korik’s fellow students were treating him no better than Spock’s had, Spock confessed to his father that the effects of the taunting he had endured as a child had been partly responsible for the condition that had caused him to seek _kolinahr_.

“I do not understand,” said Sarek. “Vulcan children have always engaged in this activity. It strengthens one’s ability to set aside anger and listen logically to criticism.”

“In Vulcan children, perhaps,” said Spock, “but not only are the quantity and the viciousness of the attacks greater when directed at children who betray themselves by reacting, the effect on me, and on other Vulcan/Human hybrids is often one that causes further distress, creating an emotional state that our less-developed mesiofrontal cortices are not capable of suppressing in the long-term.”

“And this effect lasted for decades?” Sarek asked. “You never spoke to me of this.”

“I spoke of it to no one until Dr. McCoy intervened. Since then, I have only spoken of it when necessary to aid others like myself.”

“So you would not be speaking of it now if it weren’t for your concern for Korik.”

“I feel it is my duty both as his step-brother and as one who understands what he is experiencing. He is incapable of suppressing his emotions at the level of his Vulcan peers. It is in his best interest to allow him to develop at his own pace. Attending a school with children of many species and cultures will allow him to do that without constantly being singled out and held to a standard that he cannot meet.”

And so it was decided that Sarek would divide his time more evenly between Earth and Vulcan, while Perrin and Korik would live mainly on Earth until Korik’s graduation. McCoy was currently staying with them until after the dedication ceremony tonight.

As Korik and McCoy crossed the quad, someone shouted Korik’s name. They turned and saw a short, plump, young Catullan woman running toward them. She appeared to be about Korik’s age, seventeen or eighteen, but it was hard to tell with an alien species. She wore a magenta catsuit and a puffy turquoise skirt that matched her hair.

“Hey!” she said, taking a second to catch her breath.

“Hello, Meilaa,” said Korik. “Leonard, this is Meilaa Long, my classmate. Meilaa, this is my step-brother’s husband, Dr. Leonard McCoy.”

She laughed. “ _T_ _he_ Dr. McCoy, the one we studied in xenobiology?”

“Yes.”

“What I love about school here is that everyone just name-drops half our modern history classes like it’s nothing.”

“Your father is the Catullan Prime Minister,” Korik pointed out.

“I know! That’s why I love it. It’s great not being the weird one for a change.” She shook McCoy’s hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. May I say that you’re a lot less boring than most of the living legends we study.”

“I get that all the time,” replied McCoy.

She laughed, then turned to Korik. “Listen, there’s some kind of State thing going on next week, and I’ll have to put on my Very Important Princess costume and pretend I have dignity and gravitas almost every evening, so can we get a start on that project this weekend?”

“Indeed. I prefer to begin projects as soon as possible,” said Korik.

“Great! I’ll see you tomorrow morning, ten o’clock? Sing’s?”

“Yes, ten hundred, Sing’s Cafe.”

“Okay, see you then. It was nice to meet you, Dr. McCoy, and congrats on the new wing!”

“Thanks,” said McCoy. Meilaa took off at a jog.

“Well, she seems… enthusiastic,” said McCoy as he and Korik resumed walking.

“She is intelligent and curious. She is adept at botany and languages, although her manner of speaking is idiosyncratic to the point of obscurity at times. She is constantly trying to convince me to engage in frivolous activities such as searching for sea glass or viewing 2-D cinema, sometimes even insisting that we view her favorites again.”

“So, you’ve gone beach-combing and to the movies with her?”

“She has tamed me,” said Korik.

“It happens to the best of us,” replied McCoy.

They parted ways at the hospital, and Korik went on to the academic offices. Dr. Julia Gutierrez and a handful of other medical officers met McCoy and whisked him off to look at all the shiny new gadgets in their shiny new wing.

McCoy managed to be suitably impressed by all of it, only pointing out once that, with so many machines, a doctor could go a whole day without ever touching a patient. In other words, everything went swimmingly until the plaque.

“Dear god, you put my picture on it,” said McCoy.

“It’s standard,” said the Chief of Staff, Dr. Lao. “All of the dedication plaques have portraits on them.”

“I look so serious, like I’m about to tell someone it’s time to amputate their head.”

“It was the only picture we could find where you aren’t actively scowling as if you’d _like_ to amputate someone’s head,” said Julia. “Or grinning like a goofball. The committee wanted something ‘dignified.’”

“Let me guess. You couldn’t talk them out of it.”

 

Spock tried not to awaken McCoy when he returned to their quarters aboard the USS _Eriksson_ , currently in orbit around Bajor. It was daylight in the Bajoran Capitol, but McCoy was still on ShiKahr time, and it was shortly after midnight according to his body’s internal chronometer. Spock was unsuccessful. McCoy sat up in the bed. “How’d it go?” he asked, sleepily.

“The Kai and most of the Vedeks are in favor of seeking protection from the Federation, but the First Minister and the Council are convinced that it will provoke the Cardassians into hostilities with the Federation, and that Bajor will be caught in the middle.” Spock removed his clothes as he spoke.

“They think they can appease the Cardassians,” said McCoy.

“Yes. The Vedek Assembly has no power other than that of persuasion. Since their Prophets have not spoken to them, their influence has waned.”

“And nobody even knows what these Prophets are.”

“They could be anything from instances of mass hysteria to unknown beings who have chosen to concern themselves with this planet. It matters little. War will come to this place whether they speak or not. The Council is correct in thinking that the Cardassians will not relinquish Bajor without a fight. The Assembly believes me when I tell them that the fight will be hundreds of times more costly to Bajor if they choose to capitulate to Cardassia.”

Spock had stripped to his underwear. Although he slept in the nude when they were planetside, he reverted to his old habit when they were shipboard. Spock made no move toward the bed though. McCoy pulled back the cover and scooted further over, even though there was plenty of room for Spock already. He patted the spot next to him, an invitation for Spock to come to bed, to share his sorrow, to rest if he could.

Spock sat on the bed, and McCoy turned toward him, expecting to curve himself around Spock’s back the way he usually did when Spock was the one who needed comfort. But Spock turned toward him instead, laying his head on McCoy’s chest and pressing himself against McCoy’s body. McCoy held him and felt the first tears soak into his shirt as the images and emotions came crashing down.

[ _images from intelligence reports of devastation starvation pillage rape both literal and figurative, the stories of the refugees and defectors and spies are all the same, Cardassia is not content to take, they require complete destruction and utter subjugation, it is as if they want revenge on any world that dares to have had better fortune than theirs_

_Bajor is a jewel, a planet possessed of abundance, a rare world that did not have to drive itself to the brink of destruction in order to achieve a lasting peace, a peace that has survived millennia, a peace that is about to end in horror_

_Spock can only wait for the first reports of atrocities to come from Bajor and propose that the Federation impose sanctions against Cardassia_

_that his failure here was inevitable is no comfort_

_he believes in the prime directive but he cannot deny that today it feels like a shield for cowards_

_and he grieves for the Bajoran people_ ]

Hours later, when Spock had once again gained control of his emotions and McCoy had dropped into an exhausted sleep, the call came from the captain of the _Eriksson_.

“Ambassador Spock?”

“Spock here, Captain,”

“I’m sorry to disturb you. We received a communication from Gul Murok, the… Interim Governor of Bajor. We have been ordered to leave the system. I’m afraid I have no choice but to comply.”

“Of course, Captain. Thank you for keeping me apprised.”

Although it would be nearly a week before it was official, the Occupation of Bajor had begun.

 

“Oh! Ambassador Spock! And darling Dr. McCoy!” exclaimed Lwaxana Troi. “Oh, it’s just lovely to see you! Come meet my new husband!”

Spock and McCoy were on Betazed for the Biennial Trade Agreements Conference.

“Ambassador, Leonard, may I present my husband, Lieutenant Ian Troi of the USS _Hyecho_. We’re newlyweds!” she said, waving her left hand, complete with gold bridal set, toward them. “Neat, huh? It’s a Terran custom.”

“It’s as lovely as you are, my dear,” said McCoy, making an elaborate bow and kissing the back of her hand.

“Doctor!” said Lwaxana, “your gallantry has spoiled me enough already. It took ages to find someone to live up to the standards you set.” She took her husband’s arm and laid her head briefly on his shoulder.

“My congratulations,” said Spock, nodding toward the Lieutenant. “And to you also, Ambassador Troi.”

“Thank you,” said Lieutenant Troi. “It’s an honor to meet you.” He returned Spock’s nod and shook McCoy’s hand.

Lwaxana and Spock immediately launched into the driest possible discussion of the Ktarian bid to join the Federation. McCoy took pity on the young lieutenant and drew him aside. They stood near the railing of the mezzanine, looking down onto the main floor of the conference, where vendors from a hundred or more worlds were attempting to interest traders in their goods.

“After twelve years in space, I thought I had a pretty good handle on how many different species there are. But it’s still a bit of a shock when you see so many in one place,” said Troi.

“I remember thinking the same thing at my first Babel conference, and I’ll bet there wasn’t a quarter of the number of planets then that are represented here. You get used to it, after awhile,” said McCoy.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to remembering all the different customs.”

“Me neither, and I could probably tell you where each and every one of these delegates keeps their spleen.”

“I nearly punched a Tellarite last month. I know he was just being a Tellarite, but when he started insulting her... I wanted to rush in and defend my lady – challenge him to a showdown at high noon, or something equally primitive.” Troi shook his head ruefully.

“Me and Spock’ve been sparring for over sixty years,” said McCoy. “I trust him to hold his own. But yeah, I know what you mean.”

“You’ve been married that long?”

“No. We’ve only been married for fifty-six years. We’ve been arguing for that long.”

“How long did it take you to learn his last name? I hear that Vulcan surnames are real tongue-twisters.”

“I never did learn it,” said McCoy. “My so-called accent and the Vulcan language don’t get along too well. Spock finally told me that he’d spent the first twenty years of his life listening to his mother mangle his name, and he preferred not to have to listen to me mangle it even worse.”

 

“Meilaa’s people expect her to contract a marriage of state as part of the finalization of Catulla’s admittance into the Federation,” said Korik. “They are anxious to conclude this matter soon.”

Well, that sort of explained why he had shown up at their home unannounced, interrupting their usual routine, and proceeding to pace the main room examining the various artworks before stopping to gaze out the window at the profusion of flowers in the courtyard.

“That’s positively feudal,” said McCoy.

Korik left the window and sat on one of the padded benches. “That’s what Mother said, but she is also vehemently opposed to arranged marriages.”

“I’m not strictly against them,” said McCoy. “I’ve seen plenty that worked out just fine. But that’s when the arrangers are primarily concerned with the happiness of the arrangees. Besides, it’s against Federation law to force someone into marriage against their will.”

“She volunteered to uphold her people’s traditions. Her father is concerned with her happiness. He has given her much leeway in choosing a husband. I am also concerned with Meilaa’s happiness. That is why I accepted her proposal,” said Korik.

“You… You’re not even twenty yet.”

“That is also what Mother said. I believe I now have a clear understanding of the Terran opinion of my decision.”

“You compare it to an arranged marriage,” said Spock, “but your parents have not arranged it. Given your youth, it is logical for them to question your judgment. Indeed, mine did so when I announced my plan to marry Dr. McCoy, and I was more than twice the age you are now.”

“Not to mention that you can’t be betrothed without their consent until you’re at least 25,” McCoy pointed out.

“I am aware of all of these facts,” said Korik, “and I don’t deny that my emotions are involved. I have tried to look at this as dispassionately as possible. The marriage needn’t be exclusive to satisfy Catullan custom. We would have approximately fifteen years before… the marriage would be formalized by Vulcan custom. If we find, in that time, that we are not compatible as spouses, I could marry another and so could she. We would remain married to each other in name only.”

“Vulcans do not engage in plural marriage,” said Spock, “but under Federation law it would be impossible to forbid it. However, I doubt any Vulcan would want to enter into such an arrangement.”

“I realize that,” said Korik. “The galaxy is full of other people with no such quibbles.”

“What if she decides in twenty or thirty years that she’s not happy?” asked McCoy. “After you’ve bonded?” McCoy hated to think of Korik alone and bonded to someone he couldn’t be with.

“There are no guarantees in life,” said Korik. “Isn’t that what Humans say? There is risk inherent in any undertaking. However, I cannot believe that it is in her nature to be so callous as to leave me utterly comfortless.”

“Your logic is sound,” said Spock. “The problem of satisfying this stipulation of the Catullan government has delayed their entry into the Federation for a number of years now. If Sarek were to hear your arguments, I doubt that he would object to the arrangement if your assessment of Princess Long’s character is accurate and Prime Minister Long finds it agreeable. Perrin however… I cannot deny that her concerns for your well-being are justified.”

“You can’t blame her for wanting what’s best for you,” agreed McCoy.

“I was hoping that if I could convince you, Leonard, maybe you would talk to her,” said Korik. “She values your opinion.”

And that was how McCoy found himself having tea with Perrin later that afternoon.

“I know they’re close. They lived in each others’ pockets at school. At first, she treated him more like a little brother, and I didn’t think anything of it. Toward the end of their last year though...” Perrin trailed off.

“It looked more like puppy love, when I saw them together,” said McCoy.

“Exactly. Try explaining that concept to Sarek.”

McCoy chuckled. “No thanks.” He sipped his tea. “You know he has to get married. He has no choice. I’ve read the case files of nearly every Vulcan/Human hybrid in existence, and they all enter _pon farr_ sooner or later.”

“I know.”

“If they’re compatible, it could be a blessing – no worrying at the last minute if he’ll find someone. They have time to get to know each other.”

“You really think this is a good idea?” asked Perrin.

“I think it’s no worse than any other, and far better than many,” said McCoy.

“I do believe that she is genuinely fond of him, and I’ve known her to be a sweet, kind girl.”

“And I’ve known him to be a level-headed, thoughtful boy,” said McCoy. “It seems like they both have a decent idea of what they’re getting into, and there are some work-arounds if it does turn out that it’s not all they thought it would be.”

“What if she changes her mind after it’s too late?” asked Perrin.

“That’s the chance every Vulcan who marries an alien takes.” said McCoy.

“It makes you wonder why they do it.”

“I suspect they’re not as all-fired logical as they like to make out,” said McCoy.

 

Sarek and Perrin still questioned Korik and Meilaa carefully about their plans and their understanding of the ramifications of their actions. Sarek also spoke at length with the Catullan Prime Minister about what was expected by his people in a marriage of state. Eventually, though, an agreement was reached and a date was set for the wedding – three weeks after Korik’s twentieth birthday. The wedding was to be held on Vulcan.

On the day after Korik’s birthday, he again visited Spock and McCoy.

“I have questions pertaining to my duties as a husband,” said Korik.

“Hasn’t Sarek explained them you?” asked Spock. A Vulcan’s twentieth birthday was the traditional day when _pon farr_ was fully (or as fully as possible) explained to a young Vulcan.

“He has explained everything that a Vulcan should know,” said Korik. “I am not entirely Vulcan.”

“Perhaps it would be better if we asked Dr. McCoy to join this conversation,” said Spock.

“What conversation?” asked McCoy looking up from his book. He was seated at the other end of the main room, on the couch. Spock and Korik took places on each of the flanking benches.

“Korik has questions about what will be expected of him as a husband,” said Spock.

“Like what?” asked McCoy. This was a conversation he’d had with young officers and crewmen more often than he cared to mention. He’d begun to think they all fell asleep during Sex Ed. Korik’s concern turned out to not be exactly what he was picturing though.

“Meilaa and I have not engaged in many… affectionate activities. I confess that I do not think that I am prepared for… congress,” said Korik. “I am not sure how to proceed.”

“Nearly all Vulcans are still inexperienced in such things at your age. Indeed, it is not uncommon to be entirely virginal at the first _pon farr_ ,” said Spock.

“They’re not expecting you to consummate the marriage right away, are they?” asked McCoy.

“It has been strongly implied that such would be the recommended course,” said Korik. “I... just wish to make her happy.”

“Korik, I know that Catulla and the Federation keep calling this a marriage,” said McCoy, “but keep in mind that it’s really a betrothal. You two have years to get to know each other and ‘engage in affectionate activities.’ Be patient with yourself. Have you talked to Meilaa about this?”

“I am not supposed to contact her this close to the wedding. It is another of their traditions.” Korik sighed. “I know that I am taking a large risk… I don’t wish to cause either of us regret.”

“Korik, believe me when I tell you that if she cares about you, she’ll be hurt to know that you pushed yourself into something you weren’t ready for just to please her,” said McCoy.

 

A week before the wedding, Meilaa, her father, and her father’s entourage came to stay at the Federation Embassy in ShiKahr. Two days later, Meilaa managed to break away from ‘playing princess’ to come and meet her soon-to-be brothers-in-law.

“Oh wow,” she said, looking around the main room at all of the artworks and books. “Are you sure we’re still on Vulcan?” She peeked out of a window. “Orange sky, so I guess this is the place, all right.” Then she caught sight of the garden. “Oh! May I?”

“Of course,” said Spock.

She went outside and immediately started sniffing and naming flowers. “Vulcan orchids, Bajoran lilac, Tellarite moss flowers, Caitian sun blooms... this is amazing. Where did you get them all?”

“Dr. McCoy acquired them during our travels on the _Enterprise_ ,” replied Spock.

“And Spock used them to make this garden,” said McCoy.

“It’s just beautiful.” She looked around her again. “Is that Trill _qessaria_? They’re one of my favorites!”

“Korik said you like plants,” said McCoy.

“I’m sure Korik said that I’m ‘adept in the subject of botany’ but he’s right, I love plants.”

“I believe that the tea is steeped by now,” said Spock. “I should go see to it.” He bowed slightly toward Meilaa. “If you’ll excuse me, madam.”

“Of course,” she said, dropping a curtsy.

She blushed. “It’s just automatic,” she said to McCoy.

“I understand,” said McCoy.

“So, what uncomfortable subject have the Vulcans stuck you with, as if I didn’t know?”

McCoy laughed and then gestured toward the bench. “Have a seat.” She sat on the stone seat and folded her legs under her. McCoy sat next to her, and since they were being casual, he leaned back and put one foot on the bench. “Korik seems to be under the impression that you’ll be disappointed if there’s a lack of sexual contact in your marriage right away.”

“Well, that was right to the point. Almost a little shocking after talking to Vulcans all day. If he thinks that, it’s because he’s been talking to my father’s counselors and not to me. I told Dad that this stupid ‘no contact before the wedding’ thing was going to cause trouble. Poor Korik. Everyone’s been telling him how serious everything is, and now he’s looking for ways that he might screw it up.”

“You know him pretty well.”

“I went to that school knowing that I had to find a husband. Dad wanted me to pick my own, so long as he met the criteria. The only ‘eligible bachelor’ there who treated me like a person and not an opportunity was Korik. At first, I thought maybe he just didn’t know, but I soon realized that he just didn’t consider himself in the running. So I dragged my heels. I spent almost three years getting to know him, reading his favorite books, making him read mine, talking to him, listening to him, and waiting for him to grow up. I was so hoping that he’d be the right one, once I could stop seeing him as a kid. And then one day, boom, there he was.” She bit her lip. “He’s still too young, of course, and so am I, no matter what our antiquated traditions say. Really, most Catullans don’t marry until they’re thirty, even princesses, but I’m the Prime Minister’s princess, and I’m holding up the works.”

She blinked, getting herself under control. “I thought it would be okay. We could finish growing up together. I’d rather marry one of those opportunists who’s willing to put on a smile and escort me to all of the important functions in exchange for a little power and our own separate lives than hurt Korik. I’m selfish, but I’m not that selfish.”

“I think that you’re just the appropriate amount of selfish,” said McCoy. “He’ll be here any minute.”

“This was a crazy idea,” she said.

“I’m not sure if you’re referring to your marriage or the breaking of your taboos,” said McCoy. “Either way, I’ve seen crazier.”

The door from the main room opened and a figure dressed in dark grey entered the garden.

“Meilaa?” It was Korik. “I should go.” He turned to leave.

“No!” said Meilaa and McCoy at the same time.

“You should stay,” said McCoy. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being the husband of the famous ambassador, it’s that you should never let protocol stand in the way of actually talking. I’ll go help Spock with the tea.”

Spock and McCoy stood in the kitchen, Spock behind McCoy with his arms around McCoy’s waist, watching the scene in the garden.

“The tea is getting cold,” said Spock.

“Patience. It won’t take long. She could teach Lwaxana a thing or two about getting to the heart of the matter.”

“She loves him?”

“Very much. They’ll be okay, I think, even if this wasn’t the ideal way to go about it.”

“Sometimes breaking with convention yields positive results,” said Spock, kissing McCoy’s neck.

Outside, Meilaa was using a nearby rosebush to make some point to Korik. He nodded at her and smiled. She appeared to lose the thread of whatever she was saying and just threw her arms around him. He hugged her back, and when they parted, he placed a kiss on her cheek. He left the garden through the dining area door and came into the kitchen.

“I cannot stay – it is best that no one know that we broke with her traditions – but I wish to thank you both.”

“Our pleasure,” said McCoy.

 

Although Vulcan weddings were traditionally performed in the formal courtyard of either the bride or the groom’s home, there were far too many dignitaries to contain them all at Sarek and Perrin’s house. The Temple of Amonak was chosen as the site for the wedding due to its large garden.

In addition to the Catullan Prime Minister and his entourage, there were several members of the Vulcan High Council, delegates from all of the founding planets of the Federation, Federation President Sarisa, and representatives of a dozen other Federation worlds along with various assistants and attachés.

The ceremony itself was the same short ritual that it usually was, although it was performed by the High Priest of Amonak himself, flanked by a lesser priest and priestess, each with knee-length hair indicating that they were also clergy of high standing. Princess Meilaa Long wore a coral silk gown and carried a posy of Terran roses, Vulcan orchids, and Catullan blossoming ivy that had been picked that morning by McCoy. (“It’s an Earth custom,” he’d said, “one I thought you’d like.” She had liked it very much.)

Korik wore a navy blue formal Vulcan robe embroidered with a repeating IDIC in silver on its border. The colorful Catullan attendants standing behind their kneeling princess contrasted against the dark and sober Vulcans assembled behind Korik certainly created an appropriate image of the meeting of two disparate cultures. It was an image that was shared throughout the Alpha and Beta Quadrants when it accompanied the news of Catulla’s membership in the Federation.

Once the ceremony concluded, there were refreshments and mingling. After disentangling himself from an incredibly boring conversation with one of the Risian ambassador’s husbands about the newest oceanside resort being built there, McCoy made his way to a quiet corner of the garden, where he pretended to admire the _nah’ru_ vines.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been to a wedding without wine. Are all Vulcan weddings like this?”

McCoy turned to find a young Starfleet lieutenant sitting on the bench behind him.

“No Vulcan weddings are like this. They’re generally small affairs with nobody but the bride and groom and their immediate families. The ceremony’s the same though. As for wine, Vulcans can’t metabolize alcohol and they have remarkably hardy gut flora, so they haven’t really needed to take up the art of fermentation. They do make a port wine in the Raal Province, but that’s for medicinal purposes, meaning its main use is as an antiparasitic, though some folks like the taste.”

The lieutenant laughed. “I’ve been reading up on Vulcan culture for three solid days, and I think I just learned more about Vulcans from less than a minute’s conversation with you. I’m Lieutenant Jean-Luc Picard,” he said, standing up and offering McCoy his hand, “currently attached to the office of the Federation President.”

“Leonard McCoy, M.D.” said McCoy, shaking Picard’s hand, “currently attached to the Federation ambassador from Vulcan.”

“And unless there are other Leonard McCoys on Vulcan, also a retired admiral,” said Picard. “Forgive me. I didn’t recognize you.”

McCoy waved his hand dismissively. “You can’t be expected to remember the face of every retired admiral in Starfleet plus fifty fun facts about Vulcans all in one weekend.”

Picard smiled. “Before that, I had a crash course in Catullan culture.”

“Really? What’s up with the title of ‘princess?’ Meilaa talks like you can’t swing a cat without hitting three of them.”

“Catulla used to be divided into 8,011 different kingdoms. Back in the seventeenth century, they were all united under the rule of the Eminent Suzerain, Kamita Tule I, but everyone kept their titles and lands. As they moved to a representative form of government in the nineteenth century, the title of king or queen fell out of favor, but the members of those old ruling houses retained the title of prince or princess. Also, the offspring of the members of the Assembly of Ministers are given that title. Since she is descended from royalty and the daughter of the Prime Minister, Princess Meilaa is actually a princess twice over.”

“Fascinating.”

McCoy made a face halfway between a wince and a smile as he turned toward Spock, walking up behind him. Spock held his first two fingers toward McCoy. McCoy met them with his own.

“You can’t tell me you didn’t know all that,” said McCoy.

“I was unaware that the title also extended to the progeny of the Ministers. I assume it is just a courtesy, not an official designation,” said Spock.

Picard had drawn himself up straighter, obviously a little less at ease with Spock than he had been with McCoy. McCoy couldn’t blame him. He knew which one of them was more charming. “You’re right, Ambassador,” said Picard. “They don’t keep the title once their parents are no longer in office.”

“Spock, may I present Lieutenant Jean-Luc Picard, Office of the President. Lieutenant, this, as you’ve already figured out, is my husband, Federation Ambassador Spock.”

McCoy knew that all Starfleet officers had to spend hours studying Spock’s career. They usually blushed redder than beets when confronted with him in the flesh, so it wasn’t surprising to McCoy that the lieutenant was starting to look a little flustered as the recipient of Spock’s attention. Still, he did work at the Office of the President. It only took him a second to remember the proper greeting. He held up his hand in the traditional gesture and nodded toward Spock.

“Are you planning a career in diplomacy?” asked Spock, returning the greeting.

“I was,” said Picard. “It interests me greatly, but I believe that I may be most effective serving shipboard.”

“You seek command, then?”

“I confess that I do.”

“Your time in diplomatic circles will serve you well, lieutenant. The ability to negotiate peaceful solutions is the greatest skill a commander can possess.”

“Like you’ve never advocated shooting first and asking questions later,” said McCoy.

“I beg your pardon, Doctor?” said Spock.

“Romulan Neutral Zone, Stardate 1709 or thereabouts. Ring any bells?”

“My recommendations were based on that unique situation. Force was the most logical option at the time.”

“I’ve noticed that peaceful solutions are very popular with Vulcans, until the Romulans are involved,” said McCoy.

“Exactly what are you implying?”

“Oh, nothing. Certainly not that there’s anything about your pointy-eared cousins that raises the Vulcan hackles.”

“Vulcans do not possess ‘hackles,’ Doctor, and the hypothesis that Romulans may be in any way related to Vulcans is mere speculation.”

“Mmm hmm,” said McCoy. “You forget that I’m pretty familiar with Vulcan and Romulan physiology and DNA. If you’re not cousins, I’m not a bonobo’s uncle.”

“Gentlemen!” exclaimed Picard. He looked both a little shocked and as though he were trying valiantly not to laugh. He lost this battle when they both turned identical raised eyebrows in his direction.

Picard was still snorting slightly with insufficiently suppressed mirth when Sarek chose that moment to circulate in their corner of the garden. He looked at the poor lieutenant with his usual expression of mild curiosity and Vulcan disapproval of hijinks. Picard sobered instantly.

“Father,” said Spock, “this is Lieutenant Jean-Luc Picard. He is currently attached to the Office of the Federation President. Lieutenant Picard, my father, Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan.”

“I, um,” said Picard. “It’s an honor… sir.” He belatedly remembered the proper gesture.

“The Federation honors us with its presence at our son’s wedding,” said Sarek.

“Thank you,” said Picard.

Sarek nodded serenely and glided off in the direction of an elderly Elosian woman.

McCoy elbowed Picard gently. “Your mouth’s open,” he whispered sympathetically.

 

***

 

“You’ve overexerted yourself,” said Spock. He stood and lifted McCoy into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” McCoy whispered, unable to catch his breath.

“Do not attempt to speak. I know why you did it.” [ _I felt how it made you happy to think of them_ ]

Spock carried McCoy to their bedroom and laid him on the bed. He went to the cabinet to get the hypospray. McCoy flashed him images of the vials needed. Spock froze and looked at McCoy. [ _the small dose, like we talked about_ ] Spock nodded and prepared the medications.

He administered the hypospray and sat with McCoy until his breathing grew less distressed.

“How are you feeling?” asked Spock.

“Okay. Sleepy. ‘Sthe morphine.”

Spock nodded. He held McCoy’s hand, carefully monitoring the sensations in his body for pain or other discomforts until McCoy drifted off, severing their connection.


	12. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The galaxy continues to change and our heroes with it.

“I need your help.” McCoy’s voice was quiet. He couldn’t get enough breath for much volume.

Spock was already awake, though, and heard him. He sat up and established contact with McCoy’s mind.

[ _tri-ox first, then the antifibrotic_ ]

Spock administered the medications, then sat listening to McCoy’s breathing until it eased.

“Sorry.”

“No apologies are necessary, Doctor,” said Spock. “Caring for your body has always been the simplest of my duties. The most difficult has been convincing you to allow it.”

“I suppose I can relate to that,” said McCoy with a little laugh.

“I have always submitted to your ministrations,” said Spock, helping McCoy out of their bed.

“Ministrations, huh?” said McCoy as they made their way toward the bathroom. “What happened to ‘beads and rattles?’”

“I did not say that I submitted without protest.”

 

***

 

“Do I go first or do you?” asked McCoy. As usual, he had insisted that they take a shuttlecraft, rather than simply being beamed aboard this newest iteration of the _Enterprise_.

“In this case, you outrank me,” said Spock. “We are here as retired officers, and I only achieved the rank of captain, Admiral.”

“That doesn’t exactly answer my question.”

“It is immaterial. Unlike our usual missions, I doubt there is any need to impress our hosts with our monumental importance.”

The hatch opened, and, since he was closest to it, Spock exited the craft first. They were greeted by a Human yeoman who whistled them aboard and a Tellarite commander who introduced himself as Shamaash.

“Captain Garrett hasn’t joined us yet,” said Shamaash. “Until she does, I am the acting commander of this ship. I welcome you to the USS  _Enterprise-_ C, gentlemen.”

“Thank you,” said Spock. “I am Federation Ambassador Spock. This is Dr. Leonard McCoy, former Chief Medical Officer of the USS _Enterprise_ and Admiral Emeritus, Starfleet Medical Academy.”

The door to the shuttlebay opened, and a middle-aged man in medical whites came jogging in.

“This is Dr. Jonas Kaplan, our Chief Medical Officer,” said Shamaash. “Sadly for us, he’s no better at surgery than he is at keeping appointments.” He looked pointedly at Kaplan.

“Oh, so’s your mom, Shamaash,” said Kaplan, barely glancing at the Tellarite. He grinned at McCoy.

Shamaash huffed and turned to Spock. “If you’re ready, we can go tour the more interesting parts of the ship while these two discuss the relative merits of biobeds that ‘beep’ over those that ‘boop.’”

“Door’s that way,” said Kaplan, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “Try not to get lost between here and there, this time.”

“Hah!” came the reply as he and Spock left.

“Dr. McCoy,” said Kaplan, holding out his hand, “it’s been way too long.”

McCoy shook Kaplan’s hand warmly. “Agreed, Dr. Kaplan,” he said.

“You and Commander Shamaash seem to be tight,” said McCoy as they exited the shuttlebay and started down a corridor.

“We served together on the _Nassau_. We’ve been bosom pals since I told him he wasn’t qualified to lead an away team through an airlock. I’m a bit of an outlet for him. He has to be polite to most everyone else.”

“How’s Leah?”

“She’s great – very excited to be living aboard ship. This is a first for us. I hope our marriage can survive all of the togetherness.”

“She won’t be too bored, I hope?”

“They have some positions for civilian spouses. She’s going to be helping the ship’s counselor.”

Kaplan stopped and touched a panel next to a double door. He and McCoy entered a large, black room with a yellow grid laid over it.

“This ain’t the sickbay,” said McCoy, looking around. “Holodeck, right? What’s it look like when you turn it on?”

Kaplan said, “Computer, run program: Sickbay Simulation 1082-B.”

What appeared to be an _Oberth_ -class sickbay shimmered into view.

McCoy whistled. “Sure makes anything we had back in my day look like it was powered by steam engines.”

“I didn’t even know that the original _Enterprise_ had any holo-technology,” said Kaplan.

“You could change the walls in the rec room, make it look like a cave or a traditional martial arts dojo or a theater, stuff like that. You couldn’t touch it. Your hand would go right through anything that appeared to stand out from the wall. You could project recorded images, but they would go transparent if the angle was wrong.”

“Well, you can touch these.”

McCoy reached out and laid a hand on the leg of an Andorian lying under a surgical frame. He gave it a squeeze. “Feels like the real deal,” he said.

“This is a teaching simulation. Nowadays, med students use these instead of cadavers. Most residents have performed hundreds of surgeries and procedures on holograms before they even get their degrees. They learn diagnostics on holodecks too. And we can do ongoing learning here – adding new species to the database.”

“It’s as big a leap forward as anaesthetic or the sterile field,” said McCoy.

“Well, as you used to say, nothing takes the place of a doctor’s experience, but this has given a generation of medicos a jump start.”

“Can you imagine starting out here?” asked McCoy. “Having already operated on a simulacrum of an Andorian? In my day, we had to make it up as we went along with an old diagram and a tricorder scan, just hoping we could put everything back where it belonged with no parts left over.”

“Jealous?” asked Kaplan.

“Maybe a little. I was jealous sometimes of you kids too – with your simulated sickbays and cadavers from most of the Federation planets. I had never even seen a sickbay until I was on a starship, nor the inside of an Andorian, for that matter. I’d think, ‘All the things I could have done if I’d started out with this knowledge...’ then I’d remind myself that the point of teaching was to make sure that y’all had exactly that benefit. Now the kids I taught are teachers themselves, and their students’re going to do great things.”

They explored the possibilities of the holodeck for a while longer. Kaplan showed McCoy a couple more medical simulations, a warp core breach drill, and a social dance studio. McCoy did the foxtrot with a pretty Trill instructor for a few turns before Kaplan ended the program.

“There are historical programs, as well. You can relive the Battle of Agincourt or sit in an early operating theater,” said Kaplan

“No thanks, and double no thanks. It was hard enough keeping my lunch down just reading about surgery performed with knives. I don’t need to watch it,” said McCoy.

Kaplan chuckled. “Still, it’s an amazing educational tool.”

“Mmm. Computer, are there any simulations containing an Orion dancing girl?”

“Forty-three programs contain a character fitting that description,” answered the cheerful, slightly mechanical voice of the computer.

“Forty-three, huh? Please run the most popular program containing that character.”

A large, sumptuous bedroom shimmered into view. Three green women wearing little more than smiles began dancing sinuously around the room while gazing flirtatiously at McCoy and Kaplan.

“Educational,” said McCoy. “I bet ‘Risan masseur’ is another popular character to ‘learn’ from. I’d hate to be the crewman who has to clean this place.”

“End program,” said Kaplan, laughing. “The holodeck cleans itself between uses. Any… detritus left behind by the occupants is dematerialized by the replicator.”

“Handy,” said McCoy.

After spending such an extended period on the holodeck, they only had time for the most cursory tour of the sickbay. Not that it mattered; there hadn’t been any great leaps in medical equipment since McCoy had left the Academy. Everything was a bit more elegant, but functionally the same.

As they were heading back to the shuttlebay, they passed a young man in civilian clothing, walking with a girl of about eight or nine.

“Now there’s an innovation I’m jealous of,” said McCoy.

“Not having to leave your family for months at a time?”

“Having a family at all. In my day, you could be gone for years at a stretch if you were on an exploration vessel like the _Enterprise_. You either married somebody you were serving with, or not at all. If you wanted children, it meant taking the shorter-term missions and having a spouse planetside. You saw them when you could.”

“Hey, there’s a reason I’m on my first deep-space mission in my fifties,” said Kaplan.

“Are you bringing any of your kids?” asked McCoy.

“I asked the youngest if she wanted to come – forego college for a couple of years, but she’s anxious to get to art school, so it’ll just be me and Leah.”

“Well, enjoy it,” said McCoy as they entered the shuttlebay. He could see Spock and Commander Shamaash already waiting for them. “It’s the adventure of a lifetime, and it’s even better when you’ve got someone to share it with.”

Spock and McCoy said their good-byes and boarded the shuttlecraft. After they settled in, Spock touched McCoy’s hand.

“You seem pensive,” he said.

“Oh,” said McCoy. “I was just thinking about what it must be like to have the option of having your family right on board with you.” [ _a little girl runs along a corridor, her hair is long stick-straight and black, her ears have just the slightest points at the tops, her eyes are blue_ ]

Spock was surprised at the sense of wistfulness that accompanied this image.

“You have never mentioned a desire for offspring,” said Spock.

“The time just never seemed right. First we were serving on the _Enterprise_. Later, while I was teaching, you were gone so much. Then, it just felt like we were too old.”

“It is not uncommon for Vulcans my age to have a child, and you have every reason to expect that you will live for another thirty years.”

[ _longing and resistance_ ]

“No,” said McCoy. “There’s also a very good chance that I won’t. I can’t do that to a child.”

“There were opportunities,” said Spock. “We could have arranged our lives in such a way as to make this possible. We did not. Do you regret this decision?”

“A little, maybe. On the other hand, you’re right – we could’ve done it if we’d wanted to enough.”

[ _the child stops, raises her arms to be lifted, he complies, holds her for a moment,_ _inhales the scent of her hair_ ]

“It is a compelling vision,” said Spock.

“Yes, it is,” said McCoy.

 

“It seems like only yesterday that Demora was a young ensign,” said Chekov. “Now she is an admiral, and her son is a commander.”

They were seated at a restaurant following Hikaru Sulu’s funeral. The maître d' had taken one look at the unremitting black of their attire and given them a table in a quiet corner. People coming from traditional Shinto funerals were a common sight in San Francisco.

“A retired admiral,” Uhura reminded him.

Chapel sighed and shook her head. “Where did the time go? I can remember when Sulu was a science officer before he became Helmsman. Remember Gertrude?”

“Beauregard,” said Rand. “Sulu may have studied that plant, but it liked me best, so I got to name it.”

“I think Beauregard, or whatever, was before my time,” said Chekov.

“It was this carnivorous plant with a big pink flower,” said Uhura. “It sort of hummed around certain people. If that meant it liked them, then it sure liked Janice.”

“He was always teasing me about it,” said Rand. “He said it had a crush on me. He could be such a goof when we were younger. He was much more proper when he was in command of the _Excelsior_.”

“Not too proper to come riding to our rescue though,” said McCoy.

“Well, that’s what we did,” said Uhura. “We rescued one another. No one left behind, not even two officers with forty years of navigating experience between them who couldn’t find their way down a clearly marked hiking trail.” She winked at Chekov.

“Nyota!,” said Chekov. “You said you’d never tell!”

“He was an excellent officer and a loyal friend,” said Spock. “It was a privilege to serve with him, as it was a privilege to serve with you all.”

They were quiet then, until Chekov broke the silence.

“To absent friends,” he said, raising his glass.

“To absent friends.”

 

***

 

“Christine died less than a year later,” said McCoy. “Nyota died a couple years after that.”

[ _the funeral on Mars is huge, Nyota’s niece – the namesake from so many years ago – runs a dance studio here, she choreographs an entire dance for her aunt_

_a star, a beautiful young black woman in a short silvery dress, earthbound with her face turned to the heavens, she twirls and leaps, other dancers support her lift her until the scene shifts and she dances among other stars_

_the music pulses and the star woman still spinning and flying dances from star to star, dancing with each of them in turn, with one the dance is gentle, with another it has humor, with a third it becomes erotic, with a fourth it is ferocious, she dances on and on_

_her dance slows, winds down, its rhythm gentling, finally stopping_

_the other dancers carry her still body to the center of the stage and exit weeping, the stage darkens, a lament plays, a single familiar instrument, in the orchestra pit a Vulcan woman plays her lyre_

_the music stops_

_then begins again, the entire orchestra plays in a joyous frenzy, the lights come up on the star woman and two dozen other dancers dressed in silvery star stuff, they embrace her and she dances among them again_ ]

“She was the first Human to attempt befriending me,” said Spock. “For weeks, she pestered me with the most nonsensical observations and questions. I understood that she wished to engage me, but I couldn’t understand what her objective might be in that endeavor.”

“She got through to you eventually,” said McCoy.

“Somehow, she acquired a Vulcan lyre from a trader on a space station near the Corinth system. She requested that I instruct her in how to play it. She always insisted that music was another form of communication – that it was the language in which she finally learned to speak with me. Perhaps she was correct. Her presence was quite agreeable once she no longer expected me to discuss my opinion of moonlit nights.”

“I’m pretty sure she knew about us before anyone else did. She didn’t miss a thing that happened on that ship. And if she knew about it, Christine would know about it five minutes later. Thick as thieves, those two.”

“Uhura credited Dr. Chapel for her quick recovery after her encounter with Nomad,” said Spock. “They were all extraordinary officers. Jim was adamant that the ship and the mission required the most capable crew in Starfleet.”

“I suppose that part of our lives really ended with Jim’s death,” said McCoy, “but it was hard to watch the last of the people that we had shared that with die too. From Sulu to Chekov, it was less than six years before they were all gone.”

 

***

 

“Can’t that thing make this dish?” asked Meilaa, waving her hand in the general direction of the newly installed replicator.

“Not as good as we can,” said McCoy, chopping a small pile of garlic. Meilaa and Korik currently made their home on Catulla, but they usually stayed with Spock and McCoy when they visited Vulcan. The atmosphere on Catulla was even more oxygen-rich than Earth’s. Meilaa found Vulcan difficult to tolerate without tri-ox compound, and this house was one of the few on Vulcan fitted with an environmental control that included the ability to enrich the air.

Korik was visiting his mother and Sarek. Spock was doing research at the library in a small sanctuary called Pendra. McCoy and Meilaa were on their own for dinner tonight. “It’s temperamental. It’s fine for simple foods, but hit or miss for more complex ones. Spaghetti Puttanesca is definitely a miss.”

“I don’t mind doing a little work for my supper, I guess, so long as it’s spicy. Everything on Vulcan tastes like lawn clippings and porridge. I’m going to suffer permanent damage to my esophagus from the heartburn it’s giving me.”

“Well, as a medical professional, I can’t allow that to happen.” McCoy handed her a knife. “Now be a dear and pit those olives, please. The water’s boiling already.”

McCoy dropped salt and pasta into the pot, then started the garlic and crushed red pepper sautéing in olive oil. Meilaa finished her task and came to watch the sauce being made.

“That smells wonderful,” she said.

“Thanks, I’m surprised I still know how to make it. I don’t think I have since I retired.” He added tomatoes to the pan.

“And this is a family recipe?”

“You could say that, I suppose,” said McCoy. “My dad taught me. He put in anchovies, but I can’t get them here. Hell, I only have garlic because Spock grows a little in the garden for me.”

McCoy finished the sauce with the olives and some capers, and fixed two big bowls of the pasta. He and Meilaa took them and glasses of Catullan Ale into the dining area. McCoy tried to teach Meilaa how to twirl pasta onto her fork, but ended up getting her a knife so that she could just cut it into pieces.

“How’s everything going with you and Korik?” asked McCoy.

“Good,” she replied. “Moving in together was an adjustment. Are all Vulcans so cranky if they don’t get their alone time?”

“I don’t know. How cranky was he?”

“He told me that I was, quote – a burr under his saddle – unquote. I spent nearly an hour trying to figure out what Vulcan saying he was referring to, thank you very much.”

McCoy chuckled. “They need to meditate to maintain suppression. They use the time to analyze any emotions that may have cropped up, then nip them in the bud.”

Meilaa rolled her eyes. “I’ve never quite gotten why he even tries. I mean, if it’s not good for him as a hybrid to suppress them all the time, why does he even bother any of the time?”

“Mostly, their emotions are pretty Human in scale, but at other times they’re more intense,” said McCoy. “They don’t want to be overwhelmed by them. At the extremes, even their happiness can be... difficult.”

“Well, I got to learn about the extremes of Vulcan annoyance.” Meilaa shook her head. “I’m glad I have you to explain him to me. It must’ve been loads of fun figuring this stuff out on your own.”

“I started out knowing a bit about alien psychology,” McCoy pointed out.

“One of your many degrees?” asked Meilaa.

“One of them.” McCoy smiled. “Explaining one species to another was part of the job description for CMOs back when I first joined Starfleet. Nowadays, that task falls to the ship’s counselor.”

“And here you are, still explaining. How many times have you had to help Korik figure out his nutty wife?”

“He usually goes to Spock for that.”

“Oh, I bet that’s entertaining,” said Meilaa. She put on her most grave and serious face. “They do require a certain amount of nutrients, rest, and sexual relations each week. Have you considered creating a schedule to ensure that these necessities are being met regularly?”

They were still cackling like loons when Spock joined them at the table.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” said McCoy. “Are you hungry?”

“The clerics at Pendra invited me to share their meal,” replied Spock.

“Did you find anything interesting?” asked Meilaa.

“Interesting? Yes, but ultimately useless,” replied Spock.

“I’m sorry to hear it,” said Meilaa.

“Sometimes, one must accept that the absence of an answer is, itself, an answer,” said Spock. “However, I have not quite come to that point yet.”

Meilaa didn’t ask what Spock was researching. No doubt she had managed to figure out for herself just how futile it is to ask a Vulcan what he's thinking about unless he's ready to reveal it himself.

It wasn’t that Spock didn’t wish to discuss his findings, but the subject of his studies was not something he wished to share with Meilaa. It was a little too private for that.

She changed the subject by inquiring what type of porridge was served at Pendra.

 

“So, Pendra was a bust?” asked McCoy as he and Spock readied themselves for bed that night.

“The works there revealed nothing that I haven’t seen in a thousand others of their ilk,” said Spock. “The ancients were quite fond of composing poetry about various lovers who could not bear to lose their beloved. As far as they were concerned, the only solutions were suicide or carrying the deceased lover’s _katra_ for the remainder of one’s life.”

They undressed in silence for a few moments, then McCoy spoke. “I would let you. It’s creepy as hell, but if it would make you feel better, I’d allow it,” he said. “The ah… the second thing – carrying my _katra_.”

Spock was surprised. He knew that McCoy was deeply uneasy about the idea of not allowing his consciousness to simply dissipate or ‘whatever it is that spirits do’ when he died. He pulled McCoy into his arms and kissed him, felt the thin thread of panic that McCoy was ignoring.

“I thank you, Leonard. Your generosity humbles me, but it is a moot point. The physicians I have consulted assure me that I am incapable of carrying your _katra_ for longer than a few years – eight perhaps, at the most. My brain would then begin to deteriorate from the strain.”

“Well, I can’t have that,” said McCoy. “I’ve spent too much of my life trying to protect your brain just to ruin it when I die.”

“I know,” said Spock. “I didn’t need to ask, although it is for the best that we have made our positions clear on the subject.”

Spock kissed McCoy again, sweet and gentle, his tongue licking along McCoy’s lip, his hand on the back of McCoy’s neck, long fingers kneading at the tension there. McCoy stood in Spock’s embrace, enjoying the kisses, the affection, the warmth – his palms pressed into the softness at Spock’s waist.

Slowly, Spock could feel desire and hunger add themselves to the mix of his emotions. He felt McCoy’s mind and body respond in kind.

“We just did this less than twelve hours ago,” said McCoy.

“This is for your well-being,” replied Spock, tugging McCoy’s undershirt upward. “It is beneficial for you to engage in sexual relations on a regular basis. That’s why I try to include it in your schedule as often as possible.”

McCoy chuckled and lifted his arms so that Spock could removed the garment entirely. “Right,” he said. “This has nothing at all to do with the effects of aging on the Vulcan libido that you neglected to warn me about before we got married.”

“I assumed that the literature given to you by T’Pau would have explained that.”

“It said that the ‘desire for congress and the effects of the _plak tow_ will increase throughout one’s lifetime.’ It did _not_ say Vulcans become crazed minks as they get older.”

“Has it really grown so much?” asked Spock. He brought his mouth close to McCoy’s ear and whispered, “I believe that you’ve always had this effect on me.”

[ _hurried shipboard sex, skin-to skin contact stolen between shifts, sweetness before McCoy can pass out from exhaustion, before the next emergency claims their attention_

_and later other ships that carry him far from earth, from McCoy, from home, the nights that stretch out in loneliness and longing with no interruption but sub-space messages that have traveled for hours, wishing for McCoy’s hand but having only his own_

_and always the hours – never often enough – when there is time to unwrap McCoy like a gift to hold and analyze every touch every sound and sigh every thought and emotion that he can draw from him_

_the desire was always there_

_it was the opportunities that were sometimes lacking_ ]

McCoy shivered, both from the sensation of Spock’s breath on his ear and from the wash of emotion.

Spock, one hand still cradling McCoy’s head, stroked McCoy’s jaw with the other, brushing his thumb against the slight stubble until it came to rest against McCoy’s mouth.

McCoy parted his lips and touched Spock’s thumb with the tip of his tongue. He opened his mouth further, allowing it inside. It curved over his lower lip and teeth to rest against his tongue. McCoy closed his mouth and sucked, swirling his tongue, warm and wet, around it.

Spock removed his thumb from McCoy’s mouth and placed it lightly against his nipple. He rubbed tiny, wet circles over it until McCoy’s breath grew shorter, and he pressed his body more firmly into the touch.

[ _yes this, more of this, let me_ ]

Spock kissed McCoy, then pulled back. “Lie down on the bed and wait for me.”

“Alright,” said McCoy, still just a little breathless. He lay on the bed, propped on his elbows, ankles crossed, and watched Spock shed the rest of his clothing and walk around the room, lighting the multitude of lamps. Spock took his time, allowing himself to relish McCoy’s appreciation just a little.

[ _he is beautiful, distracting_ _ly so_

 _a younger doctor reminds himself sternly that the Vulcan is his patient, it doesn’t bother him when he treats the man, it’s the physical_ _exam_ _– watching the play of muscle and skin as he moves through the ritual of the stress test,_ _M_ _c_ _C_ _oy grumbles about_ _S_ _pock’s perfectly normal blood pressure,_ _S_ _pock rises to the bait, the ensuing argument quashes any inappropriate thoughts_ ]

Spock finished with his task and turned to McCoy. “I always did find it irritatingly irrational of you to complain about my lack of an appendix.”

“Just another instance of there being a method to my madness,” said McCoy, smiling.

[ _...that sweet luminous smile, Spock remembers the first time he saw it, Ruth was her name_

_he sees it hundreds of times, when McCoy makes a discovery, when he wins an argument, when he holds a baby, when he looks at Gem, when looks at Natira, when he talks to Amanda_

_when he looks at the floor and explains to Spock that no matter the pain and confusion attendant on that emotion – he feels sorry that Spock has chosen not to experience love_

_he thinks he’s caught it sometimes out of the corner of his eye, but it is always the same sardonic smirk when he bothers to turn and look_

_until that first night, that first touch that had a purpose other than simple comfort or necessity, that first intimacy of skin and mind_

_McCoy does not hide his wonder and happiness that night or any after_

_he meets Spock_

_again and again and again_

_with that smile on his lips and shining from his eyes_ ]

Spock stood at the end of the bed and rested his hand on the top of McCoy’s foot. He slid his hand up McCoy’s ankle, his calf, knee, thigh, ruffling the hair against the grain as he went. When he reached McCoy’s hips, he hooked the fingers of both hands into the waist of his underwear. McCoy uncrossed his legs and lifted his butt off the bed so that Spock could draw them down and off.

[ _open_ ]

McCoy’s smile broadened into a grin as he widened his legs. Spock knelt in the space. He stroked McCoy’s thighs – spread open on either side of his own – first the cooler, fuzzier skin along the outside, then the smoother, more sensitive skin of the inside.

[ _lazy waves of_ _pleasure_ ]

McCoy was still leaning up on his elbows, watching Spock, watching his hands as they moved over his skin, watching Spock’s erection fill. Spock stroked higher, from McCoy’s hip bones, over his waist, to his rib cage and back again. McCoy lay back and stretched a little under the petting.

[ _exquisitely aware of the scant centimeters of skin between fingertips and nipples, between where the thumbs stroke the crease of his thighs and where his cock lies hopeful_ ]

Spock allowed the tension to play out just a little longer. He enjoyed having McCoy pliant and wanting under his hands. But he liked the bliss he could elicit from McCoy’s body too.

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to McCoy’s nipple, licking and sucking it.

[ _waves become surges, nerves seem to expand into something more, want_ _swells_ _into pleasured need_ _pulled in thick pulses through this tiny point of flesh and exploding into color and light_ ]

McCoy gasped. He buried his fingers in the silk of Spock’s hair, weaving them through the strands, holding him there for several delicious minutes, then tugging Spock’s head up a little higher so that he could kiss him.

[ _wet_ _and soft_ _and so warm_ ]

Spock reached above McCoy to the cupboard built into their headboard. He retrieved a bottle of lube and a small towel from it. He sat back until his butt was once again resting on his heels. He poured a little of the lube into his hand, and used it to slick McCoy’s cock.

At his age, McCoy was not going to experience a second erection in one day, possibly not even in two days. As far as Spock was concerned, it was an inconsequential quirk of sex with a Human. It did not diminish their pleasure.

McCoy leaned up on his elbows again in order to watch. Spock was stroking McCoy’s penis with the same look of concentration and the same little smile that he usually wore when he was playing his lyre. Spock saw the image in McCoy’s mind and lifted McCoy’s leg, laying it against his shoulder.

“What’re you going to play there, Maestro?” asked McCoy.

[ _a few notes_ _sweet_ _and clear, a_ _chorus_ _from a song that McCoy has sometimes sung, “I'_ _ve longed for you and I have desired, to see your face, your smile_ _”_ ]

“It’s a bit sentimental, isn’t it?” asked McCoy.

“It is refreshingly understated compared to ancient Vulcan love poetry,” replied Spock.

McCoy’s dry laughter ended on a huff of breath as Spock slid a finger into him.

[ _every nerve every cell sings yes_ ]

McCoy fell back on the bed again, eyes closed, arms outspread, floating.

[ _wet and soft and warm as blood, he floats on pleasure and promises and familiarity, and heaven’s light is reflected in his sky blue eyes_

_and all around is music_

_familiar and alien and taking its beat from the cadence of his heart_ ]

Spock watched McCoy, watched his skin become flushed in the firelight, watched his hips flex in time with the thrust of Spock’s finger, and the glide of Spock’s hand on his cock. McCoy opened his eyes, and Spock almost expected to see the stars reflected there, as they had been in McCoy’s imagination, but there were only the lights of the lamps.

“More,” said McCoy.

Spock added another finger to the one already moving in and out of McCoy’s body. He refrained from asking who was an oversexed Terran mustelid now – but he didn’t refrain from thinking it.

McCoy was in no shape for repartee at the moment. He gripped the blankets and moaned.

[ _it is as domestic as cleaning up a messy kitchen together, as having a favorite place to sit, as the tug of home on the heart_

_as familiar as the discipline required to master an instrument_

_as intimate as the space inside a duet_

_it is practice_

_McCoy’s muscles know him already_ ]

Spock easily slipped a third lubed finger beyond the loosened ring of muscle and into McCoy’s body.

[ _warmth and wet and softness_ ]

He could feel himself nearing the point where his control would begin to fray. Where he would lose himself [ _safe_ ] in McCoy’s arms. Already, he was being pulled into in the slipstream of McCoy’s pleasure.

[ _McCoy wants to close his eyes, to concentrate on the sensations_ _(rich and dark and thick) at the center of his body_

 _but watching Spock is too_ _charming_

_his silhouette against the tiny flames, back straight, head bent over his work, cock full and standing erect from his lap, lips still curved in an absent-minded smile_

_Spock’s mind is never absent_

_pulse and rhythm, surge and music_ ]

“Now,” said McCoy, his voice low and rough.

Now seemed like an excellent time to Spock.

He pulled McCoy’s hips just a little higher, and positioned his cock at McCoy’s entrance. He wiped his hands off on the towel and, pushing McCoy’s thighs back, he slid smoothly in [ _and in_ ] until he was fully seated [ _home_ ]. He let go of McCoy’s legs and felt them wrap around his hips.

McCoy reached up and ran a finger down the outer edge of Spock’s ear from the pointed tip to the lobe. They seemed to have frozen for a moment until Spock realized that they had both stopped to gaze at the smile on the other’s face. [ _ridiculous_ ] He kissed McCoy then, and began to move.

[ _they rock like waves, holding tight to each other, anchored to one another in endless sea and sky_

_the sea behind McCoy is like glass, waves felt but unseen, one could see to the bottom if there were one_

_all is reflected stars, clear as a winter sky, dark as a moonless night_ ]

Spock wanted to stay here forever. Logic be damned. He wanted nothing he did not have right here, his cock gliding in and out of the silken smooth passage of McCoy’s sweat-slick body, no taste on his tongue but salt, no sound in his ears but McCoy’s cries.

And all around him, surrounding him as securely as McCoy’s body, McCoy’s mind. His affection and desire, his sweet and bitter shell, his softness and depth. Spock wanted to live here – an arrow ever halfway to the mark.

McCoy shifted though, and Spock felt something bright bloom within them as his cock pressed more firmly against McCoy’s prostate on its homeward glide.

[ _the stars in the water begin to move and swirl, glowing larger and smaller, illuminated with gold like a painting_

_waves push higher, chaotic, joyous_

_stars pulse dazzling with light,_ _luminous_ _with pleasure_

_no guidance, no safety_

_except the knowledge that this universe belongs to them_ ]

McCoy came first, surprising them both, dragging Spock along in his wake. It was usually Spock whose orgasm triggered McCoy’s on these occasions when they chose to have sex even though McCoy’s body wasn’t fully recovered from their last lovemaking.

[ _but tonight the stars fall first for McCoy, body pressed close, clinging_

 _and Spock follows as the sky dissolves in a storm of meteors and radiance and joy_ ]

Spock blinked his eyes open a few moments later. His head was on McCoy’s shoulder and the only points of light were the very homely lamps he himself had lit earlier. He felt lazy and happy, and he suspected that a sizable portion of that was emanating from McCoy. He leaned up, brushed the hair from McCoy’s eyes, and kissed him.

[ _warm and sweet_ ]

That was pleasant. He did it again.

[ _I would gladly toss every star from heaven to see you smile like that_ ]

McCoy unwound his arms and legs from around Spock, and Spock felt his softened penis slip from McCoy’s body.

“I need a shower,” said McCoy.

“Indeed, Doctor,” said Spock.

“Hey, my current state is at least eighty percent your fault.”

“I see,” said Spock, getting up and holding out a hand to assist McCoy in following suit. “Then I will do my part to amend the situation.”

Twenty minutes later, clean and under the blankets now, Spock lay on his back with McCoy lying partially on his chest. The lamps had been extinguished and McCoy had put on fresh skivvies.

“Would you sing for me, husband?” asked Spock.

McCoy cleared his throat. “Sure.” He flipped over onto his back, but left his head and shoulders leaning on Spock. He folded his hands across his diaphragm and Spock could feel him searching his memory.

McCoy took a breath and sang into the soft darkness – “ _There's no stronger wind than the one that blows down a lonesome railroad line..._ ”

Spock was unsure why McCoy had chosen this song until he got to the chorus.

“ _Close your eyes, I’ll be here in the morning. Close your eyes, I’ll be here for awhile._ ”

Comfort then, and renewal of vows already made and kept for so long.

 

***

 

“God, but the sex was always phenomenal,” said McCoy.

“I found it quite satisfactory, but I have very little to compare our experiences to,” said Spock.

“Well, I was never any kind of Casanova, but I had a fling or eight. No one could hold a candle to you, Spock.”

It was illogical – Spock was sure that McCoy deserved more of the credit if the quality of their lovemaking had been indeed extraordinary – but he couldn’t help but noting that it was a rather flattering assertion.

He was still smiling slightly as he watched McCoy fall asleep. Spock would have been content to sit for a few hours with McCoy sleeping against him, but he didn’t want McCoy to become cramped from staying in the same position for an extended period. He stood, lifting McCoy in his arms, and carried him to their bed. Spock then shed his outer robe and crawled in beside his sleeping husband.

 

After a nap, another round of medications, and lunch (an unappetizing concoction called “shrimp and grits” which Spock discovered to be more pleasant to eat than to look at), they were once again seated in the garden.

“You know, my original plan was to work at one of the big hospitals – Atlanta or Leiden or Bangkok – someplace big enough to have an exo-medical department,” said McCoy. I must’ve got a letter from Starfleet every month, trying to get me to join. Hell, they sent reps on three separate occasions just for little old me. I had to get my heart broken before I took them up on it.

“I had to get drafted back into Starfleet at one point. Then they practically had to kick me out before I’d leave and go be an ambassadorial adjunct, or whatever-you-want-to-call-it. It seems that most of my career decisions got made by someone else.”

“You do not regret it,” said Spock, stating the obvious.

“Not a minute.”

 

***

 

Spock greeted the two lesser delegates from Betazed while McCoy handled the more enthusiastic greetings from their lead delegate. By the time he had finished, Lwaxana Troi had received a hug and a buss to the cheek, and now stood holding both of McCoy’s hands and telling him what an unmitigated delight it was to see him again.

“Oh! And dear Ambassador Spock too, of course!” she exclaimed, turning toward Spock and smiling brightly.

“It is always pleasant to encounter you, madam,” said Spock, nodding toward her. “And you as well, madam,” he said to the young girl who had been standing behind her mother. He had not noticed her at first, as Lwaxana’s skirt was quite voluminous.

Deanna Troi held her hand up in the traditional Vulcan greeting. “Hi, Ambassador Spock.” She turned to McCoy and held out her hand to shake. “Doctor McCoy.”

Spock was surprised at the child’s serious demeanor. Lwaxana had a habit of bringing Deanna to various diplomatic functions, believing them to be educational for the child. She had always comported herself well, but she had also displayed more of her mother’s vivaciousness in the past. Spock wondered if she was of an age to be entering adolescence.

McCoy shook her hand and said, “I’m forced to agree with Spock. You brighten up this whole conference, Ms. Deanna.” She smiled a little at that and decided to hug McCoy.

“I’m happy to see you too,” she said.

They were all on Babel for the vote on the Arbazans’ bid to join the Federation. It was a mere formality – the only people to have raised objections were the Tellarites and it was expected that they would also vote in favor of inclusion. The real business of the conference was the informal discussions on the breakdown of relations between the Klingons and the Romulans. A group of delegates began to gather around Ambassadors Spock and Troi for that purpose.

“I can’t fathom what the Romulans hope to gain by attacking their allies,” said Lwaxana. “Or why they’re even allies in the first place.”

“Their alliance has been in name only for some time,” said Spock. “It was mainly formed in the aftermath of the Khitomer Accords and the Treaty of Algeron in an effort to convince the Federation that they were formidable enough to pose a threat should the Federation choose to back out of either treaty. As for why the Romulans would attack, their actions at Narendra III are consistent with their ongoing campaign to destabilize relations between the Federation and QonoS.”

“But the events there ended in renewed commitment to the Khitomer Accords,” said Ambassador K’urn of Efrosia.

“However, if the _Enterprise_ had not responded, the Klingons would have seen that as a breach of trust,” said Spock. “The Romulans may have assumed that a Federation vessel would not willingly engage in a battle that it must inevitably lose.”

Spock brushed the back of McCoy’s hand with his own, ascertaining that McCoy was not unduly distressed by discussion of the ship that Dr. Kaplan had still been serving on when it was destroyed. McCoy acknowledged the solicitous gesture, and indicated that he was well.

“The Romulans said that they had intelligence concerning a listening post there, and the Klingon High Command chose to drop it,” added McCoy.

“I’ve spoken at length with Curzon Dax of Trill,” said the Bolian ambassador, Moq’wat. “Chancellor K’mpec keeps a tight reign on them, but the High Council and the Generals are increasingly at odds with one another. And now this tragedy at Khitomer – someone fed security codes to the Romulans and nearly eighty percent of the colonists perished when they attacked.”

“Romulus denies that they attacked at all,” said Ambassador K’urn.

“The _Intrepid_ detected Romulan tactical transmissions when they responded to Khitomer’s distress call,” said McCoy.

“And the colony insists that it was attacked by cloaked ships,” said Moq’wat. “Unless the Klingons attacked themselves...”

“I don’t like that every time they fight, the Federation ends up in the middle,” said Lwaxana.

“If they finally split, I fear that one of them will seek alliance with the Ferengi or Cardassians,” said Moq’wat.

“What do you say, Spock?” asked K’urn. “You’re very friendly with the Romulans. Do you think that they are distancing themselves from the Klingons in order to strike a new bargain elsewhere?”

“I am no more privy to the counsel of the Romulan Senate than you are, Ambassador,” said Spock. “My experience and reason tell me that the Romulans will not ally themselves with a power that they do not consider easily manipulable. The Ferengi perhaps, but not the Cardassians. However, I think the Romulans will continue their current policy of not interfering in the affairs of the Alpha Quadrant.”

“My apologies, Ambassador,” said K’urn. “I didn’t mean to imply that you have privileged information. I was only noting your... peculiar rapport with Senator Pardek.”

“I have never seen the logic in creating personal enmity where there is none,” said Spock. “Whatever the relations between our respective governments, Senator Pardek and I bear each other no ill will.”

“So, if you think that the Romulans are no real threat, do you think that the Klingons are?” asked Moq’wat.

“I believe that they are both possible threats to the Federation, but the more immediate threat is Cardassia,” said Spock. “If you will excuse me, I see that my aide requires my presence.” He turned to McCoy and held out the first two fingers of his right hand, mentally bracing himself. “Husband, will you attend me?”

McCoy touched Spock’s fingers with his own [ _rage_ ], and nodded pleasantly to the others. “Your excellencies.”

“Mealy-mouthed son of a bitch,” muttered McCoy as soon as they were out of ear-shot. “He all but called you a traitor.”

“One makes enemies in this vocation, Doctor,” said Spock. “Sometimes for no easily discernible reason.”

“I saw the look he gave Deanna. I can guess the reason.”

Spock stopped and looked at McCoy. “Do you really think that I am concerned about the disapprobation of such as that?” [ _peace beloved_ ]

“No,” said McCoy. They started walking again. “But I’d still love to punch him.”

When they reached Tellek, he informed them that he had received a sub-space communication from Sarek. His business with the Legarans had delayed him, as he had expected it would. He had sent an official communique to the Federation officials at Babel informing them that Spock would be his proxy.

That business concluded, Spock and McCoy once again circulated among the other diplomats. There remained another hour before the roll would be called and talk still centered around the Khitomer Massacre. They had been cornered once again by Ambassador Moq’wat who apparently needed to further voice his fears for the entire quadrant. Spock was reminded why there were no Bolians in the Federation Diplomatic Corps.

It was Lwaxana who extracted him from this discussion.

“Oh, Mr. Spock! Leonard!” she called as she rushed up to them. “Have you seen Deanna?” She tried to look as though she weren’t unduly concerned, but it was a testament to her distraction that she would address them so informally and loudly in the public halls of Babel.

McCoy put a hand on her shoulder. “We haven’t seen her, but we’ll help you look for her.”

“Oh, thank you!” she said gratefully. “You’re lifesavers, both of you. I can’t imagine what’s gotten into her! She just never runs off like this! She’s been coming into her abilities, you know. I think it’s making her moody.”

McCoy went with Lwaxana to help her look and to keep her calm.

Spock headed for the east stair.

Deanna Troi was not the first child of a diplomat who had ever frequented Babel.

Under the east stair was a door hidden by a full-length painting of Jonathan Archer. Any observant person could see the spot on the frame that had been worn smooth through a couple centuries of use. The door was never locked since it only led to a balcony where live musicians sometimes played. Spock popped the simple latch and started up the gentle slope of the ramp.

Ms. Troi the Younger was in the balcony, seated on the floor with her knees drawn up to her chest, leaning against the back wall, where casual observation would be unlikely to reveal her.

“She’s coming into her abilities,” Lwaxana had said. Empathic abilities, if Spock’s reading of Dr. Thelles’ latest work was correct.

Spock sat on the floor next to her. “Are you unwell?” he asked.

“I’m not sick,” she replied.

“There are other ways to be unwell.”

“I suppose Mother’s worried about me.”

“She is, but Dr. McCoy is with her.”

“It’s weird that you call him that.”

“Perhaps.”

“He doesn’t mind though,” said Deanna. She stared at the bit of the crowd that was visible through the balustrade.

“I would not use that designation if I thought it would cause him discomfort. I too am privy to his thoughts on the subject.”

“I don’t know what people think, just what they feel,” said Deanna.

“People like Ambassador K’urn?” asked Spock.

“He hates you,” she said. “And me. He hates Mother and Dr. McCoy too. We disgust him.”

“Do you understand why?”

“No! I don’t!” She bit her lip for a second. “I mean, I know he thinks of you and me as half-breeds, but I don’t see why he hates us for something that doesn’t have anything to do with him.”

“Half-breeds?”

“Some kids at school call me that. They think they’re funny.”

“When I was your age, children also thought that it was clever to upset me with that word.”

“You? Vulcan children?”

“Yes, to both,” said Spock.

“K’urn isn’t just being a jerk, though, is he?” asked Deanna. “He really hates us a lot.”

“Yes, he does.”

“Why?”

“Your mother would probably say that he is jealous.”

Deanna rolled her eyes.

“Dr. McCoy would say that it is easier to hate than to love,” said Spock.

Deanna twisted her mouth wryly.

“They are not foolish people,” said Spock. “Vulcan philosophy teaches that fear is the most dangerous emotion. Fear empties one, and the weak fill that space with jealousy and hate.”

“Do you believe that?”

“Vulcan philosophy is somewhat lacking in nuance on this point, but yes, in essence I believe it.”

Deanna mulled this over for a bit.

“Do people like that still upset you?” she asked.

“I am not entirely unmoved by their hate, but I am not hurt the way I once was.”

“Because you know that they’re weak?”

“Because I reject their definition of me. It was painful to hear that term, ‘half-breed,’ because it implied that only my Vulcan half was worthwhile, and I could never be entirely Vulcan. Later, when Humans used it against me, I understood that I could never be accepted as Human, either. I was always half of one or the other, and the two halves were at war within me.”

Deanna was watching Spock now. He hoped that his words were comprehensible to her. Korik and Somek had been much older when they had come to him with these questions.

“Keep in mind that bigots can be quite dangerous, even violent, particularly in numbers. That such sentiments have become popular enough on Efrosia to allow one such as K’urn to gain a position of power is most troubling, but his animosity is not based in reason. He does not hate me or you. He hates what we represent in his mind – degeneracy, corruption, chaos, and loss of control.

“Your peers have also projected their fears onto you and punish you for what you have come to represent to them.”

“Should I feel sorry for them?” asked Deanna.

“I am not the best person to ask about the suitability of one emotional state over another,” said Spock. “I do know that showing compassion to such people has sometimes effected a change of philosophy, but it is a most challenging course of action. Whether you choose to pursue it or not must be your own, carefully considered decision. You owe them nothing.”

Deanna chewed on her lip for a moment.

“I see, I think.” said Deanna. “Be on my guard, but they’re the problem, not me.”

“Indeed,” said Spock. “You have summarized my point most efficiently.”

He stood up and brushed himself off. “The roll will be called soon. Shall we find your mother and my husband?”

“Alright,” she replied.

Then, as they started down the access ramp, she said, “I really want to punch that guy, though.”

 

“It seems that these interminable wars with the Cardassians will not end soon,” said Sarek.

He and Spock were at Spock’s home going over resource allocation agreements between the member planets of the Federation and the colonies when Tellek brought them the news of the massacre on Setlik III.

Cardassia had attacked without warning, destroying the Federation settlement there and killing nearly all of the ninety-seven inhabitants. The first ship to respond, the USS _Rutledge,_ also sustained heavy casualties.

“These wars with Cardassia will never end while we maintain a defensive position,” said Spock. “Until the Federation commits to an all-out offensive or some other power in the quadrant chooses to wage war on Cardassia, we will be caught in a cycle of hostility with them for the foreseeable future.”

“Do you truly believe that?” asked Sarek, surprised at Spock’s opinion of the situation. “The Cardassians are a fairly rational people. They surely see that they have nothing to gain from a war with the Federation. They do not possess enough military strength to defeat us.”

“Cardassia shows great logic when it comes to achieving its goals. However those goals stem from a mindset so irrational as to border on madness. They wish to prove themselves and their society to be superior to every other through conquest. They know that they cannot win in a full-scale conflict, but these border disputes serve to feed their need for glory and reinforce their xenophobia.”

“I was unaware that you had formed so negative an opinion of them,” said Sarek.

“I studied them quite closely in the years before they annexed Bajor.”

“Ah, Bajor. I believe that, at the time, you categorized their culture as superior.”

“You do not agree with my assessment?” asked Spock.

“I agree that the Bajoran people thrived, that their arts and sciences were of the highest order,” said Sarek. “Once, Cardassia was also a culture free from strife, but they did not have the privilege of originating in an environment of abundance. Now that they have nonviolent alternatives, I hope that they can be encouraged to return to that peaceful existence.”

“I too, wish for such an outcome, but I do not believe it is probable.”

“No?”

“They have created a society fueled by paranoia. They have become slaves to their own mythos. They destroy Bajor because they cannot countenance the survival of a culture that prospered despite being the very antithesis of their own. They will seek to do the same to the Federation, even if they must fight a war of attrition over the next century.”

 

***

 

“You need to fix this thing with Sarek,” said McCoy.

“With his illness, I am not convinced that I can,” said Spock.

“Try.”

Spock kissed the top of McCoy’s head, then shamelessly attempted to change the subject.

“Do you remember Lewis Zimmerman?” he asked.

“Spock.”

“I will, Leonard. I will try.”

 

***

 

“Well, it took ninety-four years, Spock, but you’re about to get your wish. Two wishes, actually,” said McCoy, grinning gleefully.

“Is this in reference to the project at the Holoprogramming Center?” asked Spock.

“Yes,” said McCoy. “Killjoy.”

“Forgive me.” Spock smiled slightly. “I saw that you had a communication from Jupiter Station and deduced the remainder. The Emergency Medical Holographic program is not meant to replace the ship’s doctor, merely to supplement that esteemed person temporarily should they become unable to perform their duties.”

“Should they croak, you mean.”

“It is a logical solution to the ongoing problem of supplying ships with adequate numbers of physicians. It eliminates the need to carry redundant personnel, particularly on smaller vessels.” said Spock.

“I am well aware of the problem, Spock,” said McCoy.

“Then you should be gratified at the prospect of a solution, Doctor.”

“Do you really think the galaxy is ready for another M-5?”

“As you mentioned before, it has been ninety-four years. I’m sure they’ve ‘worked the bugs out’ by now.”

“Let’s hope so,” said McCoy. “Because they want my engrams in this thing, and I would hate to be the one responsible for its catastrophic failure. You want to tag along? Witness the ‘torrential flood of illogic?’”

“It is tempting,” said Spock.

Spock chose to tag along. The excursion turned out to be quite interesting.

“Of course, all of the raw data is already loaded in,” said Dr. Zimmerman. “We’re working on getting him to process experiences, extrapolate, hypothesize – learn, basically.”

“You refer to it as ‘him,’ Doctor. You have assigned the program a gender?” asked Spock.

“I suppose, technically, the program is non-binary, but the model we’re using is male,” said Zimmerman.

“You mean it will have a male body?” asked McCoy.

“Yes, more or less,” said Zimmerman. “The personality model will be male as well.”

“You feel that the EMH requires a personality?” asked Spock.

“Yes, to make him more… relatable – for the comfort of the patients.”

“So what you’re saying is that a big chunk of the ship’s computer will be taken up by a program that has a physical form, and that can think, and possibly feel – a sentient entity?” asked McCoy.

“Well, I don’t know about sentient yet, but all the rest? Yes.”

“There are, I assume, fail-safes in place to prevent this entity from choosing to act in its own interests should those interests conflict with those of the crew,” said Spock.

“Well of course!” said Zimmerman. “This program could conceivably take over the whole ship. What kind of idiot would build a thinking machine with that kind of power and just let it run amok?”

“Daystrom,” said McCoy.

“Daystrom!” hooted Zimmerman. “What a cluster-- uhm, debacle that was! Well, I assure you, the EMH will have a robust ethics subroutine. I’ve been studying the one used on the Soong-type android and I should be able to adapt it to the EMH with no problems.”

“See, Spock? The research of Arik Soong’s grandson will be protecting the quadrant,” said McCoy, grinning.

“Lieutenant Commander Data has proven himself to be an excellent and capable officer, as well as an impressive feat of engineering and programming,” said Spock.

“So what do you say, Dr. McCoy? Will you let me record your engrams?”

“Sure,” said McCoy, smiling a bit wryly.

“Great!” said Zimmerman. He started getting the equipment ready. “You know,” he said over his shoulder, “I was flabbergasted when I found out you were still alive.”

“I feel the same way every morning,” said McCoy.

“And that you were still in complete control of your senses!” said Zimmerman, still looking through drawers full of electronic devices.

“It’s a matter of some debate,” said McCoy.

Zimmerman dug out a clear, bowl-shaped gadget with what appeared to be a number of probes lining the inside. “Here we go.”

McCoy eyed the thing with alarm. It looked exactly like the Eymorgs’ “teacher.”

“This isn’t going to hurt, is it?” he asked.

“What? No, of course not.” said Zimmerman, a touch exasperated.

Spock allowed his hand to brush McCoy’s. [ _peace,_ _the similarity is superficial_ ]

“Pain has not hindered you from performing your duties before,” said Spock.

“That was to save a life,” snapped McCoy.

“This,” said Zimmerman, lowering the device over McCoy’s head, “will save many lives, and I promise it won’t hurt a bit.”

 

***

 

“A few months later, you received your diagnosis,” said Spock.

[ _weariness, sorrow, resignation_ ]

“Tomorrow,” said McCoy.

[ _peace, affection_ ]

“Tomorrow,” Spock agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I did music again. 
> 
> The little ditty that Spock prefers to Vulcan romantic poetry is Tracy Chapman's [The Promise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4N_8iRmM4JM).
> 
> McCoy chooses to sing Townes Van Zandt again. [I'll Be Here in the Morning](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AjGOxo0KDMs) this time.


	13. Tenderness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it turns out, they still have an argument or two in them.

“We do not have to discuss this if it is too distressing,” said Spock. He had been feeling McCoy’s fear and sorrow since they had established contact this morning. All during breakfast (Swedish pancakes. Spock found them a little sweet, but interesting.), while they had sat on the couch (Spock played his lyre for McCoy), and through lunch (vegetable soup and crusty bread), the knowledge of today’s subject had colored their activities with a tinge of melancholy.

“Are you kidding?” asked McCoy. “After we’ve come this far?”

“This ritual… there is no proof that it will be effective.” [ _I do not want this to be more painful for you than it must be_ ]

“There’s a chance that it won’t do what you want it to, but it feels like the right thing to do.”

“It feels right? You wish to continue with something that you clearly dread because of pure sentiment?”

“Yeah, Spock. That about covers it.”

 

***

 

McCoy first noticed his symptoms when they returned from a trade negotiation on Risa.

Negotiations on Risa always ran long, and this one had gone on for over a month. At first, McCoy just assumed that his shortness of breath and tiredness were a result of having gotten used to the oxygen-rich air and slightly lower gravity of Risa, and that his aches and pains were just old age and new joints going arthritic. But that didn’t explain the fact that his fingertips were wider or that he had lost five pounds that he couldn’t really afford.

He knew what was happening, but he made an appointment with his Vulcan physician nonetheless.

Dr. T’Ren confirmed McCoy’s diagnosis. Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis. There were treatments, but no cure. He was too old to be a good candidate for a lung transplant.

He was dying. He had wondered for awhile what would fail, and now he knew. For himself, it sure as hell wasn’t pleasant, but he was… alright with it. In a way, it was a relief to know. But for Spock…

At first, McCoy went on as he had before, or tried to. The antifibrotic medications helped. His breathing eased and he felt livelier. The clubbing on his fingers subsided. He wanted nothing more than to get as much normalcy as he could in the years remaining to him.

Spock was having none of it.

Spock found that he could not face this with equanimity. For years, he had watched McCoy’s body age, always a bit ahead of his own. Spock knew by now that he was aging somewhat faster than a typical Vulcan, and of course McCoy was aging much more slowly than a typical Human. But there was no doubt that, barring catastrophe, Spock would outlive McCoy by two or three decades.

Now that he was faced with the disease that would claim his husband, Spock wanted to fight it.

He read all of the available literature on McCoy’s condition. He knew more about McCoy’s medications than McCoy did, although to be fair, degenerative diseases had been one area that McCoy had not been forced to become an expert in. Spock constantly urged him to eat despite his assurances that the weight was coming back at his current intake. Spock questioned every activity more strenuous than reading a book. And if McCoy did overdo it a bit and send himself into a coughing fit, Spock would insist that he rest for the remainder of the day.

Their sex life ground nearly to a halt.

This went on for a month, so it was an understatement to say that McCoy was shocked when Spock suggested that he accept the invitation to meet the soon-to-be-launched _Enterprise-_ D all the way out at Deneb IV and tour the sickbay.

“Why can’t I just go look at it right now at Mars?” asked McCoy.

“Their CMO will not be joining them until the ship arrives at Farpoint Station,” said Spock.

“And you’re not going because..?”

“I have a prior commitment at Mount Seleya. It cannot be rescheduled.”

McCoy considered arguing the point further, but decided that maybe a couple of days without Spock’s fussing might help him clear his head a bit and think of a solution to their current impasse.

“Fine. When does the next transport leave?” asked McCoy.

“It left yesterday. Currently, Vulcan is only sending one transport per week to Farpoint. However, I spoke to Tellek, and he agreed to pilot you in the _Yuron._ ”

“The _Yuron_? It’ll take twice as long to get there in a runabout.”

“Three point two times,” said Spock. “However, that is still more expedient than awaiting the next transport.”

And so the next day, McCoy found himself settling in for a nice four-day cruise to Farpoint.

 

McCoy stepped from the _Yuron_ onto the flight deck of the main shuttlebay. He already knew something was up – the ship was in two parts and there was no yeoman there to greet him, although the usual sound of the boatswain’s whistle came from somewhere. There was only Captain Jean-Luc Picard and a Klingon lieutenant.

“Dr. McCoy,” said Picard, shaking McCoy’s hand. “It is truly an honor to see you again, sir.”

“I see you made good,” said McCoy, smiling at him.

“Pretty good, if I do say so myself,” said Picard smiling back. “I only wish that I had time to spend in your company. I’m afraid we’ve encountered a...”

“A dire emergency?” McCoy chuckled. “It’s not my first time at the rodeo, Captain.”

“Well, I leave you in the very capable hands of Lieutenant Worf, who will accompany you to our sickbay, and I hope that we can chat once this situation has been resolved.”

“I’d like that,” said McCoy. He turned to the Klingon. “Well, Lieutenant Worf. Shall we?”

“Of course,” said Worf. “Right this way, Admiral.”

They left the shuttlebay and walked down the corridor in silence.

Finally, McCoy said, “Are you okay, Lieutenant? You’re clenching your jaw so hard, I’m afraid you’ll burst a blood vessel.”

“I am fine,” said Worf. Then – “We are at the sickbay.” Worf touched the panel next to the door, then gestured for McCoy to enter.

“qatlho', Sogh Worf. SoH mach tuq poch,” said McCoy.

Worf almost appeared to smile. “QaQ nID 'aj. DaH jImej.” He nodded toward McCoy, turned on his heel, and strode quickly back down the corridor.

“You speak Klingon?” asked a tall woman in a medical uniform.

“About a dozen phrases,” said McCoy. “Funny thing, I’m pretty fluent in Vulcan, but my accent’s lousy. I have no problems with Klingonese, but I can’t parse it to save my life. You must be Dr. Crusher.”

“And you must be Dr. McCoy,” she replied, shaking his hand. “Welcome.”

“So what’s the hullabaloo?”

“There’s something off about the station and there have been repeated encounters with an unknown entity. That’s about all I know. I’ve just been concentrating on getting the sickbay settled.”

“Wise course,” said McCoy.

They toured what turned out to be a small hospital. There was an intensive care unit, a nursery, a large physical therapy room, private patient rooms for longer-term care, a large surgery, and four medlabs. Personnel bustled around with an air of efficient purpose. McCoy spared a moment or two to wish that he could be one of these young people at the beginning of a great adventure instead of an old codger being entertained for the sake of tradition. Then he remembered that ‘adventure’ was just a euphemism for ‘terrifying series of events.’ They finally ended up in Dr. Crusher’s office.

“It’s so… big,” said McCoy.

“I know,” said Crusher, grinning. “I was on _Constellation_ -class ships prior to this.”

“I think we could have fit my entire sickbay in your office,” said McCoy. He noticed a picture on her desk. “Who’s this?”

“My son, Wesley,” she said.

“Handsome boy.”

“Thanks. I think he takes after his father.”

McCoy was about to ask about the kid’s father when there came a light knock on the office door frame behind him. McCoy looked around.

“Deanna!”

“Dr. McCoy.” She gave him a hug. “It’s so good to see you. I was worried I’d miss you before you left.”

“I take it you two know each other,” said Dr. Crusher.

“Dr. McCoy’s husband and my mother are both Federation ambassadors,” said Deanna.

“We go way back,” said McCoy. “Lwaxana’s a pistol.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” said Deanna.

“So, you’re on the _Enterprise_ now?” asked McCoy.

“Ship’s counselor. I got the order two weeks ago. It’s very exciting. I keep thinking of all those stories you used to tell me, and I have to pinch myself to make sure it’s real.”

“I might have done the same thing a couple of times when I started out. _Enterprise_ was already a name to conjure with way back when.”

“But it was during your time that it became a legend,” said Crusher.

“That was mostly Kirk and Spock’s doing. I just kept everybody in one piece,” said McCoy.

That’s when the fever hit.

“Are you alright, Doctor?” asked Deanna. She put her hands on his arms and guided him to a chair. “Here. Sit down.”

“It’s hot in here,” said McCoy.

“You’re mistaken,” said Crusher, coming around her desk. “I keep the environmental controls on the cool side in my office.”

“I know what I feel, Doctor.” snapped McCoy.

As suddenly as it had started, it was gone. McCoy shook his head. “That’s weird.”

“Are you sick?” asked Crusher.

“Yeah, but I don’t think that’s it,” said McCoy, scowling. “Although, it’s familiar.”

“May I ask what you have?” asked Crusher.

“Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis,” said McCoy.

Deanna’s eyes got big, and he patted her hand. “Don’t fret. We’ve all got to go sometime, and I’ve got years yet.”

She bit her lip a little, then nodded.

“Well, let’s take a look at your lung function and pulse-ox anyway,” said Crusher.

McCoy was sick of having scanners waved at him all the time. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone for five minutes? The worst part of having a terminal illness was that nobody would ever let you forget about it for awhile.

And, dammit, it WAS hot in here.

Deanna was staring at him, head cocked to one side. He realized she was feeling his anger.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I might be getting a little touchy about the constant poking and prodding.”

That didn’t seem right to McCoy. He was getting tired of it, but not that tired of it. He let the women lead him out to the main part of the sickbay, and he got on an exam table. The instruments had scarcely begun their familiar chorus when he felt the heat and irritability again.

“Your oxygen saturation levels are fine, but you have a fever and your cortical activity is way up,” said Crusher.

Suddenly, McCoy knew exactly what was going on.

That green-blooded son of a hobgoblin.

“What you’re looking at, Doctor, are the signs of the _plak tow_ in the Human mate of a Vulcan.”

“The blood fever?” asked Crusher. “You mean… like at _pon farr_?”

“I mean exactly that. Even non-Vulcans feel the effects of their mates’ cycles.”

Deanna stayed with McCoy while Dr. Crusher went to see if there was anything in the medical literature that might offer some relief.

“Will you be able to travel back to Vulcan in time?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. Maybe not, unless I can get a transport. The _Yuron_ isn’t really designed for these kinds of long trips.” Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. “Of course he knew that.”

“You think Spock deliberately arranged for you to be absent during _pon farr_?”

“He’s worried about me,” said McCoy. “And a little pushy when he thinks he knows what’s best. I’m sure you know the feeling.”

Deanna’s mouth quirked a little.

“Oho, I hit it. What’s the current bee in her bonnet?” he asked.

“She’s after me to get married.”

“You’re too young to get married.”

Deanna narrowed her eyes. “I almost think you’re trying to get me off on a tangent, Doctor.”

“Nah, just looking for a little commiseration.” McCoy closed his eyes against the next wave of over-warm crankiness.

“He loves you so much.” McCoy didn’t need to ask where she got this information. She’d been around both of them often enough to have picked it up with her ability.

“I know that,” he grumbled.

Dr. Crusher came back with a hypospray. “According to our files, this should help alleviate the symptoms for awhile,” she said.

McCoy frowned. “What’s in it?”

“You should know, Doctor,” she said, smiling. “You wrote the file.”

Dr. Crusher administered the medicine and checked his vitals again before leaving.

Deanna patted his hand. “Lie there for a minute. I’ll check the transport schedule for you.”

“Hey, Deanna,” said McCoy.

“What?”

“Don’t let her push you. I was over forty before I even kissed Spock. And even when he’s being a plague on my existence, he’s the goddamn love of my life.”

“I’ll remind her of that next time I see her.”

McCoy lay on the exam table, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of beeping instruments and working medicos.

And wondering precisely what the hell his husband was thinking.

Was Spock really this worried that McCoy couldn’t withstand _pon farr_? They had only made love a few times since McCoy got his diagnosis, but it wasn’t as if he had suddenly become incapable of it. Hell, they were doing it at least three times a week up until then.

It wasn’t logical.

McCoy briefly entertained the idea that Spock was disgusted by him. It happened sometimes – people occasionally reacted viscerally to the idea of touching someone who had a disease, but he discarded it. Spock had no issues with touching him. If anything, he was initiating physical and mental contact more often than before.

McCoy’s usual method for dealing with Spock when his logic failed him was to argue with him. Being forced to defend his stance was usually enough to show Spock when he didn’t have a leg to stand on. But even Vulcans had their sore spots, and McCoy didn’t like poking Spock’s if he could avoid it. He had hoped that, given a little time, Spock would go back to being his usual, sensible self.

It wasn’t working, though, was it? Was Spock really this afraid?

McCoy scowled. Afraid or not, Spock had no right to exile him like this. And he had absolutely no right to withhold their last _pon farr_ from him either.

“Admiral McCoy?”

McCoy sat up. A man in an operations staff uniform stood beside the exam table, a mild expression on his golden face.

“I am Lieutenant Commander Data, sir. Counselor Troi was called away. I am here to assist you in her place.”

“I see,” said McCoy. “Nice to meet you, Commander Data.”

“I am pleased to meet you as well,” said Data. “I have ascertained that a fast transport ship will be leaving Farpoint in three hours. Its destination is Andoria.”

“How long will it take to get there?”

“Twenty-one hours, sir.”

Well, that was a damn sight better than four days. Transports ran between Andoria and Vulcan every hour. That trip only took two. He could be back on Vulcan in twenty-six hours, give or take.

McCoy slid off the exam table and stood still, checking to see that he wasn’t too wobbly from the sedative. Dr. Crusher had returned. She gave him the once over with a hand-held tricorder, then smiled at him. “I think you’re okay to go,” she said. “Just take it easy. It was wonderful meeting you, Doctor.”

“Thank you, Dr. Crusher. Sorry I was a little grumpy there.”

“Perfectly understandable,” she said.

“Tell your captain I’m sorry I couldn’t stay.”

“I will.”

Data spoke again. “If you are ready, Admiral, I can escort you to the main shuttlebay, or if you prefer, I can escort you to the transporter room and beam you directly to the planet.”

“Transporter room!” exclaimed McCoy, as they left the sickbay. “Now why the hell would I want to go there?”

 

The trip back to Vulcan went smoothly, although it seemed interminable. McCoy packed a medkit and a change of clothes while the _Yuron_ was en route to Farpoint, where he caught the transport. He spent the first half of the trip to Andoria trying to figure out what he was going to say to Spock.

Clearly, Spock thought that celebrating _pon farr_ was too strenuous for McCoy – not exactly the most logical premise. Spock was understandably anxious, and he was focusing that anxiety on trying to keep McCoy safe.

They both knew that Spock feared McCoy’s death. He had already spent years searching the libraries of Vulcan for something that might alleviate the pain of losing McCoy, but it appeared that the ancient Vulcan solution for trauma was drama.

Well, McCoy wasn’t going to find a solution to that over the course of a twenty-hour transport trip. Better to focus on the immediate problem. Spock didn’t trust McCoy to put his own needs above Spock’s.

He wasn’t wrong, was he? How many times had McCoy sacrificed himself? How much say had he allowed Spock in those decisions?

And now he just expected Spock to trust him when he said that he was fine.

McCoy sighed. He wasn’t fine. Oh, he could handle _pon farr_ with a few precautions, but in the long run, he was dying. He didn’t want to spend his last years in one long argument with Spock about what he could and couldn’t do, nor did he look forward to having Spock trying to pack him in cargo foam every time he moved. He needed his husband, not a damned nanny.

“Then I guess you’d better start treating him like your husband, McCoy,” he told himself. “No more ignoring the problem, no more pretending that nothing’s changed, and definitely no more saying, ‘I’m fine,’ unless you’re damn sure not just blowing sunshine up his skirt.”

Now all he had to do was convince Spock. Well, it wouldn’t help if he showed up on Vulcan looking like he’d spent the last twenty-four hours fretting. He ordered a good dinner, ate it, and, with the help of another dose of sedatives, got a full nine hours of sleep. When he woke, he made sure to get a decent breakfast too.

The time between periods of irritability was getting longer. He took that as a good sign that Spock was managing the _plak tow_ well enough through meditation.

Shortly before they reached Andoria, McCoy took a shower and changed into fresh clothes. It was the plainest outfit he had brought with him. Hopefully no one at Seleya was going to have a fit because he didn’t have the proper ritual attire.

When he stepped off the transport, a young Andorian woman in a Starfleet uniform was there to greet him.

“Admiral McCoy?”

“The one and only,” he said.

“Crewman Masen, sir. A Lieutenant Commander Data sent a communication instructing us to make sure you got on the quickest transport to Vulcan.”

“That was good of him,” said McCoy.

“I’ll convey your thanks, sir,” she said. “If you’ll just follow me?”

So he followed her. On board the second transport, he took a careful inventory of how he was feeling, and made sure to dose himself appropriately with tri-ox compound.

When he got to Vulcan, there was a ground transport waiting for him. McCoy silently thanked Data for arranging that too.

There was a bit of back-and-forth with the priestess at Mount Seleya before she managed to decipher his Georgia-accented Vulcan. She took him directly to the entrance of one of the long, winding rock corridors leading to what he hoped was the correct chamber.

It must have been. At the bottom of the gently sloping corridor sat Spock. All of the little lamps and candles were lit, and the bed with its fluffy black blanket was there. Spock was seated on the floor near the foot of the bed with his legs folded, a lit lamp in front of him. He was staring at the flame and quietly reciting the Periodic Table in Vulcan, complete with each element’s atomic weight.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” asked McCoy quietly.

Spock’s head snapped up and he looked at McCoy. McCoy felt his fever spike as Spock’s concentration faltered. Then Spock shook his head as if to clear it and went back to staring at the flame and reciting the elements.

McCoy seated himself across from Spock and moved the lamp between them out of the way. “No such luck, Spock. I’m not a hallucination. I’m the real deal.”

“Leonard,” said Spock. “You rendezvoused with the _Enterprise_. How did you return to Vulcan so quickly?”

“As it turns out, the _Yuron_ is not the only mode of transportation in the galaxy,” said McCoy.

“I had hoped… You are Human. I had hoped that the distance would be so great and the effects so subtle...”

“You hoped that I wouldn’t feel your need? Or that I wouldn’t recognize it?” McCoy asked. “You’re my husband, Spock. Why’d you try to shut me out of this?” McCoy waved a hand, indicating the little cave around them.

“Because I knew that you would insist on joining me here… even if it harmed you.”

McCoy shook his head. “So you decided it was okay to harm yourself instead. Are we ever going to stop trying to take bullets for each other?”

“I do not think it likely that the _plak tow_ will do me any lasting injury. I have been managing the effects quite well,” said Spock. “I could not, in good conscience, ask this of you in your weakened condition.”

“Okay, first of all – _pon farr_ is not something you ask of me. It’s not a favor I do for you. This is something we share. Maybe you think that because I don’t suffer from the _plak tow_ the way you do, that I don’t feel how profound this is or that I don’t need it, but I do.

“Second of all – I. Am. A. Doctor. I know you don’t always approve of how I take care of myself, but I assure you that I do know what will and will not harm me.

“Third of all...” McCoy took a deep breath and tried to make his tone less… yelly. “Third of all – I promise you, here in one of the most sacred places on your world, in this place where we made our first vows to each other, I swear that I will take the best care of myself possible. I won’t do more than is good for me. I’ll eat and sleep enough. I’ll be as careful with myself as I would be with a patient. Just _please_ don’t put me in my grave before I’m dead.”

McCoy could feel the tears in his eyes as he pleaded with Spock. He was frustrated at not being able to touch Spock’s mind. He hated not knowing if Spock believed him, but he wasn’t going to take advantage of Spock’s vulnerable state. If they physically touched, Spock would succumb to the _plak tow_ whether he wanted to or not. So McCoy kept his distance, waiting for Spock to make the first move.

“You will allow me to care for you?” asked Spock.

McCoy nodded. “If you’ll trust me.”

Spock held out his hand, the first two fingers extended. The hand shook slightly, but his voice was steady. “As it was in the dawn of our days, as it will be for all tomorrows, to you, my husband, I consecrate all that I am.”

McCoy let out a breath, and touched Spock’s fingers with his own. [ _fear pain anger sorrow, they will wait,_ _for now there is grace_ ] “Spock, my husband, from you I receive all that I am.”

“As it was in the beginning, so shall it be now.”

“Two bodies, one mind.”

They kissed, tongues touching, tasting each others’ mouths. Fingers worked on ties and fasteners, pushing and tugging at cloth until they were both nude, kneeling on the floor with nothing but a pile of clothing between skin and cold stone.

Spock stood and helped McCoy up. He led McCoy to the bed.

McCoy saw his body as Spock saw it – frail and fading. His skin was loose on his muscles and the blood vessels were thick blue ropes running under it. His hair was thinner and pure white. His face was like crumpled parchment, poorly smoothed. He could feel the fierce tenderness this engendered in Spock and he surrendered to it. If this was what was needed, this is what he would give.

Spock’s tension drained away at the knowledge that, at least on this, McCoy would not fight him. McCoy would allow himself to be cared for. And Spock would remember that his husband was still alive, still his lover, still his companion.

They moved slowly and with care through this ritual, aware that this would be the last time they would celebrate it.

And when McCoy had taken Spock, draped across his back, one hand on Spock’s hip and the other holding Spock’s hand with their fingers entwined, kissing the back of Spock’s neck…

And when Spock had taken McCoy, seated on the bed with McCoy in his lap, McCoy’s legs wrapped around his waist, and his lips against Spock’s ear…

When the ritual was complete, when they had celebrated their part in the eternal life of the universe one last time, they lay sated and whole in each others’ arms.

 

After _pon farr_ , Spock severely curtailed his ambassadorial duties, keeping mainly to serving the Federation President as an adviser. He was unwilling to be away from McCoy, and also unwilling to put McCoy through the stress of endless travel. McCoy conceded that an ambassador’s schedule was rather too much for him now.

They still traveled, though. They visited Korik and Meilaa on Catulla. Spock’s duties had never taken them there, so it was the first time for both of them. McCoy was looking forward to being just another tourist.

He’d forgotten that he was the brother-in-law of the Prime Minister’s daughter, and that Catullans loved their First Princess (a title the press had made up for Meilaa), and that they were fascinated by her Vulcan husband and his family.

Still, the palace beds were extraordinarily comfortable and the food was very spicy.

And McCoy was one of the first to hold Princess T’Kylaa when she was born.

“She’s got the cutest damn ears in the galaxy,” he said, giving her a boop on the nose which prompted her to take his finger in a death-grip.

“You said it,” replied Meilaa.

 

They visited Jarin Thelles and his husband, Willem, on Betazed. Willem was an excellent cook and avid gardener, and the conversation was blessedly devoid of politics. Betazoids love their old houses, and Willem was no exception. He and Thelles lived in an ancient stone cottage that had been in Willem’s family for six generations.

Jarin found McCoy one evening in the garden, looking at a particularly fine starveil.

“Brings back memories,” said McCoy.

“Your apartment in San Francisco.”

“Yeah, we’d sit on the balcony and talk about life and brains and work.”

“I’ve missed it.” said Thelles.

“Me too,” said McCoy. “I don’t have many chances to just ramble on any more. Vulcans usually have a point to what they’re saying. Diplomats too, although it can take awhile to find it.”

“You miss conversations that are without an agenda.”

“Yeah.”

“I miss getting to know someone slowly – having to really listen to their words and watch their body language. It’s like the difference between living in a nudist colony versus watching a striptease,” said Thelles.

“I miss having old friends.”

“Do you believe there’s some existence after this one?” asked Thelles.

“I can’t disbelieve something I experienced. I think we go on, if only for awhile, but I don’t pretend to know what happens to us.”

“The Aenar believe that our minds rejoin with those we’ve loved in a vast network that spans the universe. It sounds sweet when I think of being with my mother and Magar, but I also sometimes think it will get boring.”

“Humans still have a bunch of different beliefs, although a lot of them center around returning to a state of perfect love and happiness,” said McCoy.

“So – also simultaneously comforting and tedious,” said Thelles. “Are you afraid?”

“A little.”

McCoy held out his hand.

Thelles took it and opened his mind, letting McCoy make the connection.

[ _sweet affection, sorrow and understanding, the weight of love and loss and age, they acknowledge what they were, what they might have been, what they are_ ]

Thelles broke the connection, but held on to the hand.

 

“It’s kind of over-the-top, ain’t it?” McCoy surveyed the painting that Spock had brought back with him from Earth. It depicted a man and a woman wearing vaguely medieval Japanese clothing and enjoying each other’s embrace immensely. A piece of red string that was tied to their fingers swirled around them.

“It certainly conveys a heightened sense of drama,” said Spock. “Are you familiar with the myth?”

“Yeah, the string means they’re soul-mates or fated to be together or something,” said McCoy.

“When I saw this, it sparked something in my mind, but I can’t quite remember...”

“You forgot something?” asked McCoy. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Even my mind will eventually discard information that is never used, Doctor.”

“You’re, ah, not planning on putting it out here, are you?”

“I was unaware that you had an opinion on the décor.”

“I have an opinion on _that_ ,” said McCoy gesturing toward the painting.

“It is my intention to place this in my meditation space. I hope that careful contemplation of it might goad my memory.”

With that, Spock picked up the painting and took it into his office. McCoy waited. Spock reappeared, holding a small, flat object.

“Happy anniversary,” said McCoy.

Spock appeared puzzled for a moment, but his memory wasn’t entirely failing him. “We met one hundred years ago today.”

McCoy grinned. “Well, one hundred Human years, anyway. Open it.”

Spock slid the lid of the object back to reveal a still photograph. It was the bridge crew of the _Enterprise_ -A.

“I tried to find an older photo with all of us, but this was it. I guess we were just too busy for posing. We took this one from the main view screen right before the farewell party in the forward observation lounge.”

“It is… greatly appreciated,” said Spock, still gazing at it. He looked at McCoy and smiled.

 

“Mx. President, I believe that we should agree to this armistice,” said Sarek. “The wars with Cardassia have already led to the deaths of over 100,000 Federation citizens. The losses are particularly heavy in the contested colonies. The creation of a demilitarized zone around the disputed planets will ensure their safety until a more permanent agreement can be created.”

“The safety of the disputed planets relies on Cardassia keeping its commitments,” said Spock.

“And you think they’re untrustworthy?” asked the representative from Rigel.

“Ask the Bajorans how well they adhere to their word,” said Spock.

“Should we continue this conflict because of one planet? I would remind you again that they chose to put themselves under Cardassia’s protection,” said Sarek.

“Their treatment of Bajor is, I believe, indicative of how they conduct all of their negotiations. They made threats and false promises in order to secure an alliance with Bajor so that our hands would be tied by the Prime Directive. They use our own laws against us while they have no intention of keeping their word.” said Spock. “And now you propose that the Federation should trust Cardassia to treat in good faith.”

The ambassador from Trill spoke up. “The Bajoran government all came from one caste, and they were more suited to planning resource networks and managing budgets than dealing with hostile foreign governments.”

“The situation with Bajor is unfortunate,” said Sarek, “but not the point. We cannot afford to continue to wage war with the Cardassians. The Federation has chosen to allocate its resources to exploration and diplomacy since it made peace with the Klingons and the Romulans. If an attack were to come from an unknown quarter, we could find ourselves fighting a war on two fronts without enough ships to cover one.”

“It’s hard to give priority to a hypothetical war over the three million real Bajoran refugees currently living on the Trill homeworld,” said the Trill ambassador. “And there are another two million on Betazed. We will always take in refugees, but we already depend on the aid of other Federation worlds to meet the demand. What happens when Federation citizens are forced to flee the disputed planets because the Cardassians wouldn’t keep their side of the agreement?”

“This treaty cedes too much to the Cardassian government,” said Spock. “We should insist that they relinquish control of the disputed planets currently hosting Federation colonies – colonies that Cardassia agreed to at one time. Appeasing them is a mistake. To quote an Earth phrase – if you give them an inch, they will take a mile.”

“We should force them to abandon Bajor as well. Every day, there are new tales of the atrocities committed there,” said the Trill ambassador.

“I, for one, prefer a different Earth phrase – they made their bed and now they can lie in it,” said the Kasheeta representative. “I’m not willing to give up more fighters, especially to save a planet that couldn’t even be bothered to save itself.”

“The Bajoran people fight bravely,” said the Andorian ambassador.

“If you can call terrorism brave,” said the Kasheeta.

“They fight the war they’ve been given,” said Spock.

“I know that you are fond of the Bajorans, Spock,” said Sarek, “but the logical course is to sign the armistice treaty and wait to negotiate on their behalf.”

“It is true,” said Spock, “that the Bajorans have had my sympathy during the fifty years that they have waited and died under Cardassian rule, but my objection stems from the fact that the Cardassians show their true character in their treatment of those in their power. They cannot be trusted.”

 

“I have located the learning module – _Terran Mythology:_ _An_ _Introductory Course_.” said the disembodied voice of the computer.

“Display the entry on the red string of fate,” said Spock.

A few paragraphs of text appeared on the central screen.

“Show footnotes.”

A few more paragraphs appeared.

“The red string of fate has some similarities with the ancient practice of _katric_ binding, in that those connected by the red string are often said to be bound in the afterlife as well. However, the red string is largely seen as an instrument of fate or supernatural entities, rather than that of the practitioners’ volition.”

He had meditated for more than a month on the painting before he realized that the information he was attempting to remember was housed in the public archive at Mount Seleya. It was part of a learning module that his mother had chosen for him when he was struggling to regain his psyche after the _fal-tor-pan._

 _Katric_ binding. He had never heard of the practice.

“Computer, show all entries in the archive – search phrase “ _katric_ binding.”

“I have located two entries,” said the computer.

“Display them,” said Spock.

Two entries appeared on the left screen. The first was the footnote he had just read. The second came from another learning module – _Practices of the Ancients_.

“Ancient Vulcans sometimes experienced an _eros_ so powerful that they were unwilling to be separated from their mates, even in death. It was considered correct among them for the surviving mate to carry the _katra_ of the deceased mate until their own death. However, even this did not satisfy some. There are tales of Vulcans seeking to leave their _katras_ in their lover’s ark. Some even chose to forego the preservation of their _katras_ , opting instead to attempt _katric_ binding – a practice that allegedly bound two _katras_ together so that the _katras_ would be drawn to each other after death.”

“Computer, are there any more entries on this subject in the secure archives?”

“I have located three entries.”

“Display them. User: Spock, son of Sarek. Security code: 1863982-0045”

“Touch the identification panel to verify,” said the computer.

He did so.

The entries appeared on the right screen. The first was from _The Teachings of T’Klaas_.

“It is true that the ancient master known as V’eris possessed great intellect and wisdom. Her writings had influence on Surak, and he joined her sanctuary in order to study them further. It should be noted, however, that Surak declined to become an adherent for three reasons – One, that V’eris did not advocate constant suppression of emotion. Two, that V’eris held to a philosophy of insularity, rather than one that sought the wisdom gained from knowing other species. Three, that her adherents used the healing techniques developed by V’eris to further their own power through emotional manipulation. They used both the Technique of Release and the Technique of Absolution in this way. They also claimed that their intervention was necessary to complete the Ritual of _Katric_ Binding, which requires no third party.”

The second was yet another love poem.

“Computer, locate the search term in the second document.”

The screen began to scroll through the text until it reached a highlighted passage.

“Ah, my love! My dearest one!  
They brought your corpse to our home, the bastards.  
They left it lying in the courtyard.  
Ravagers! Animals! To treat your lovely body so!  
How could they not with reverence touch you?  
Were they blind to the perfection of your lush, dusky-tipped breasts?  
Did they not see the creamy skin of your soft belly?  
The elliptical curve of your thighs?  
The luxurious slope of your buttocks?

In my grief, I did kiss your lips and weep.  
I did clutch you to my breast and cry to the merciless sun.  
They cared not, the curs.  
With cruel joy they related the tale of your demise.  
The viper’s bite.  
The lonely death.  
With brutal delight they informed me of your abandoned and wandering _katra_.  
Your essence lost for all eternity.

They are fools!  
Your _katra_ is forever bound to mine!  
As entwined as our limbs as we lay on our perfumed bed,  
Our bodies molded to each other as we delved them for release!  
As interwoven as our hearts pulsing as one!  
As fused as our minds as we indulged in our time of madness,  
Our wedding, our timeless love reunion.  
We have practiced the ritual of _katric_ binding.  
We have observed it in every golden day together,  
My love, my dearest one.”

The third entry was from _Lost Practices_.

“ _Katric_ binding was both process and ritual. Its roots were in the Philosophy of Presence practiced by the Tunasht Valley cult nearly 5,000 years ago. The philosopher and mystic, V’eris of Tunasht, was a descendant of the cultists and as such inherited many of their oral traditions, which she then codified in her writings. Surak denounced the practice saying that its cause was sentiment and its result was the loss of the _katras_ of both mates. For this reason, and because there can be no verifiable evidence that the ritual has any effect, it has fallen out of favor since the rise of modern Vulcan Philosophy.”

“Computer, search all archives for author: V’eris, subject: _katr_ _ic_ binding _._ ”

“Searching.”

The practice wasn’t forbidden or it wouldn’t be mentioned in the general works here. All of the restricted texts contained notes explaining the reason behind their restriction, and these texts were all forbidden due to other concerns. The ritual had simply fallen out of favor organically and was lost. It was obviously so well-known in its time that no one thought it necessary to mention what it entailed.

“One work found. Location: K’lon Monastery. Title: _A Practice to Bind_ Katras _One to the Other_.”

 

After Julia’s funeral, McCoy sat in his hotel room slowly sipping a bourbon, although why he was nursing it, he couldn’t say. It was just synthahol. He was keeping his promises even when there was very little point to it and nobody around to get after him. It was strange to be in a city that used to be his home. It was strange these days to be without Spock, but Spock couldn’t reschedule his appointment at K’lon tomorrow. The Master there had already given him the runaround for months.

Big fish in a little pond. Probably enjoyed making the great Ambassador Spock dance to his tune.

And it was strange and lonely to attend little Julia’s funeral. Of course, she wasn’t so little. She had been 109.

Dr. Varo had thanked him warmly for coming, and mentioned how much she had loved living in his former home. She was returning to Argelius II next week.

Somek had been there with his new wife. Anniki had died four years ago. McCoy knew that Somek had married a Vulcan widow. It was the usual custom. It provided both parties with a partner at _pon farr_ and there were no hard feelings if the pair bond was not as strong as the first had been.

McCoy had been surprised, though, when Somek’s new wife turned out to be T’Kara, the woman who had delivered Spock’s letters in the aftermath of the Tomed Incident.

Somek and Anniki’s children had been there as well – Timo and T’anni. They had come to pay their respects to “Aunt” Julia.

McCoy hadn’t known anyone else.

On Vulcan it was easier to pretend that he hadn’t outlived everyone.

Chapel, Sulu, Uhura, Chekov, Julia, Scotty.

Jim.

This was no good. He messaged Tellek. “What do you say we make an early start of it tomorrow?”

“You no longer wish to visit the Starfleet Teaching Hospital in the morning?” asked Tellek.

“Nah, not really. I’d like to go home, if it’s all the same to you.”

“It is immaterial to me. I will send you a message when I have confirmed our departure time.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course, Doctor. Tellek out.”

McCoy slept poorly that night. His dreams were full of Earth – Savannah and San Francisco mostly, but there were a couple about Atlanta and Maui as well.

He woke at 0434 and decided to just get up. Tellek would be there in half an hour. Their departure was scheduled for 0530.

 

***

 

“And here we are,” said McCoy.

“That’s not quite all, Leonard,” said Spock.

“No. I saw a pulmonary specialist while I was there. He agreed with Dr. T’Ren that the disease is progressing more quickly now. He said that there was no way to slow the process of deterioration. He gave me about a month. He was being generous.”

“Why has this been so difficult for you to speak of?”

“Because my imminent demise is not a fun subject?”

“Throughout this illness, you have accepted what is happening to you with forbearance. I can think of many reasons why that might change now, but I don’t know which apply unless you tell me,” said Spock.

McCoy sat up, turning so that he could face Spock while leaning against the wall for support. “I’m worried about you,” he said. “And I hate that I’m putting you through this. I kept hoping I’d figure out a way to make it easier for you, to help you. Now I’m out of time, and I’ve got nothing.”

[ _I am selfish_ _unthinking and cruel,_ _I can’t make this better_ ]

“You are none of these things.”

“I started this. I propositioned you. I found you attractive, and I enjoyed your company, and I was so damn tired of being lonesome. But I didn’t think it through. I’ve always been good in the moment. I can handle an emergency, but foresight is your strong suit, not mine.”

“Indeed. I accepted your proposal in the knowledge that I would have, at best, sixty years of your company. As it was, I gained nearly one hundred years with you. As you say, my ability to see likely outcomes is strong. And yet, I chose to be with you.”

“And now I’m leaving you.”

“May I go deeper?”

[ _acceptance_ ]

Spock sank further into McCoy’s mind, searching for old memories from before he had known McCoy.

[ _He lays on the bed, on his side of the bed. It’s too soon to use the whole bed. Not that he ever will. He’s moving out tomorrow. San Francisco, he’s never been there. He won’t be there long. An accelerated officers’ training program._ _He’ll go from cadet to lieutenant junior grade in six months. Starfleet needs doctors that badly. He smiles grimly at the triteness of joining the service because his woman ran off._

“ _I’m sorry,” he’d said. “Work needed me.”_

“ _I needed you too, Leonard.” She doesn’t yell or cry. She doesn’t even seem angry. She just packs what’s left of her things. She’s been at it all day while he was at the hospital._

“ _I need someone who cares more about me than his job.”_

“ _My job is saving people’s lives.” He says it quietly._

“ _I know. I’m not saying it shouldn’t be your priority. I’m saying I can’t be in this relationship any more. I’m sorry, Plum.”_

_There are more empty beds after that – mostly narrow bunks on various vessels. Sometimes he notices a pretty face that notices him back. There are a few one night stands and wild weekends._

_A few times he falls again, starry-eyed and open-hearted – convinced he’s found ‘the one.’ It never lasts. All of the basic incompatibilities that he hadn’t seen rear up and extinguish the flame he’d been trying to nourish._

_There’s his work. He does love that, and it doesn’t fail to reward him._

_But he can’t help but see how one-sided his interactions are. He touches so many in such intimate ways._

_No one touches him back._

_He is profoundly lonely and increasingly resigned to it. It has been_ _fifteen_ _years since Nancy._ ]

“What would you say to him?” asked Spock. “Would you tell him not to take the chance he’s about to take?”

McCoy looked at his forty-two year old self. [ _alone and anxious and usually exhausted_ ]

“I didn’t have the right to use you that way,” said McCoy.

Spock sighed. [ _frustration and love_ ]

“And if I wanted to be used?” Spock asked.

[ _McCoy at twenty-seven again – still raw and breathless from Nancy’s departure_ ]

“If you could make him see his future, if you could show him the pain he is about to endure, not just the years of loneliness, but the pain of a betrayal greater than this one he now suffers – if you could show him everything he would gain after, do you think he would seek to change his fate?”

McCoy watched his younger self. [ _there are joys and triumphs ahead, but there are still more sorrows, and they will grind him down, until he reaches out to Spock, and Spock will deal the heaviest blow himself_

_and McCoy will forgive him_

_and go on forgiving and being forgiven and accepted and comforted and challenged and loved_ ]

“No,” said McCoy. “No, I wouldn’t trade us for anything.”

“Nor would I.”

[ _I’v_ _e always known the price_ ]

“I’m just so afraid for you. You’ve said that I’m the last connection to this universe that you have.”

“Your death will not change that. I will live and I will continue to be a part of the life around me. And if I can find no other reason to do so, then I will remind myself that I promised this to my beloved husband before he died.”

Spock leaned forward and pressed a kiss to McCoy’s lips.

[ _warm_

_and soft_

_and sweet_ ]

 

The afternoon had been exhausting. McCoy napped for nearly three hours. Then he sat on the couch with Spock and read a little. They had dinner – a concoction that McCoy called "macaroni and cheese."

“What do you think of it?” asked McCoy.

“I think it is accurately named,” said Spock.

Spock assisted McCoy in preparing for bed, then readied himself. He lay down beside McCoy and pulled him carefully into his arms.

“You need to sleep tonight,” said McCoy.

[ _astonishment_ ]

“I have only kept watch one night, Doctor,” said Spock.

[ _you think I don’t hear what you don’t say_ ]

“Which normally wouldn’t tire you, but you’ve been suppressing my pain for what? Thirty-six hours now, give or take?”

“I was not aware that you knew.”

“Not the point, but if it makes you feel better, I only know it by your baggy eyes. I can’t sense you doing it.”

“It allows you to remain lucid,” said Spock.

“I know why you’re doing it,” said McCoy. “I don’t need to be lucid to sleep. Give me enough of the morphine so that I can sleep comfortably and so can you. I won’t argue if you want to take up your self-imposed burden in the morning.”

Spock got back up and prepped the hypospray.

 

He awoke about six hours later. Vulcans rarely need more than four hours of sleep, so it was a testament to how exhausted he’d been that he didn’t wake up until he felt McCoy’s movements in the bed.

The morphine was wearing off.

Spock placed his hand on McCoy’s face, arranging his fingertips around McCoy’s left eye. He hadn’t needed to make this gesture two mornings ago because they had already been connected, but now he didn’t have McCoy’s cooperation. And yet, he slid in as easily as a fish moving through water.

The pain had worsened. He had to put forth much more effort to suppress it.

He had himself and the pain under control, though, when McCoy woke two hours later. He aided McCoy to the bathroom and with his medications, but it was obvious that McCoy was too weak to sit up at the breakfast table. Spock put him back to bed.

“What would you like to eat?” he asked.

“ _Plomeek_ broth and hot sauce,” said McCoy, smiling.

Spock went out to the kitchen. He allowed his tenderness for McCoy to surge up from his mind in order to provide his telepathic ability some range. He didn’t have much practice with this technique though, so he quickly replicated two bowls of broth and a tray to put them on and carried it back to the bedroom.

They sat on the bed for awhile, pretending to eat. McCoy’s appetite was nil. Spock had a hard time swallowing.

Spock set the tray aside and climbed into the bed. He held McCoy gently, enjoying the warmth of his body and his presence in his mind.

“Is there anything left to do?” asked McCoy. “For the ritual.”

“No,” said Spock. “Some believed that it was enough to simply live mindfully with one’s mate and to love them deeply. Others believed that a recounting such as the one we undertook would reinforce the intimacy between _katras_ – that the volitional nature of the act would cause them to seek the other after death. V’eris subscribed to this philosophy and wrote down the ritual as it had been passed to her by her ancestors. She admitted though, that most Vulcans would rather have their _katras_ placed in an ark or carried by another.”

“It’s a pretty big chance you’re taking,” said McCoy. “I always expected that, whatever you want to call my soul, it would end up just going its own way after I died, even if that way was to oblivion. Vulcans have a whole plan for theirs and it’s not just a hypothesis.”

“The concept of an eternity alone in an ark is not an appealing one,” said Spock.

“That was your plan once.”

“I had not considered it thoroughly then. I have now.”

[ _whatever happens, I am part of this universe and I will remain so_ ]

“Well, I liked the ritual,” said McCoy. “It was nice to share that with you.”

[ _his mind wanders_ _over the memories of the last two weeks,_ _from their first kiss_ _to their wedding to_ pon farr _to Spock taking him pressed to the bulkhead of the Enterprise to warm nights in Maui windows opened and the breeze on bare skin to their bed in San Francisco to their shower in San Francisco…_ ]

“Really, Doctor?”

“Have I ever mentioned that I find you immensely attractive?”

[ _wistful_ ]

“We could make love, if you want,” said Spock.

“You going into the miracle business?” asked McCoy.

“I believe I have enough control of your autonomous nervous system. It would have to be… carefully done.”

[ _a gift, let me share this_ ]

“Okay. I’ll admit I want that sweetness before...”

Spock put a finger on McCoy’s lips. Then kissed him.

[ _sea and sky, deep and high, water and air_

_midnight blue and charcoal black, stars brilliant, and the white splash of the Milky Way_

_they are more closely linked than usual_

_McCoy can see their bedroom, see his hands on Spock’s body, and see the mindscape as well_

_Spock sees the stars against the blue of McCoy’s eyes_

_rhythm, of breath of heart, Spock watches and corrects_

_and pleasure, skin against skin, Spock’s tunic and pants open, McCoy’s t-shirt up his underwear down around his thighs_

_Spock does not exert control to draw their lovemaking out, just to keep McCoy breathing evenly calmly_

_so McCoy is caught off-guard by their orgasm, it arrives so softly and quickly, a warmth, a pull, a splash against their bellies_

_a gentle landing, a deep comfort_ ]

“You have a hell of a bedside manner, Spock.”

Spock smiled and McCoy could hear all of the romantic drivel that crossed Spock’s mind only to be discarded as too saccharine.

It was on the tip of his tongue to say something tart, but he dropped it. For one thing, he was incredibly sleepy.

By the time Spock got them cleaned up and their clothes straightened back out, McCoy was asleep. Spock sat on the bed and held McCoy’s hand.

The pain was worse.

 

By the time McCoy woke hours later, Spock was having difficulty suppressing the ache. McCoy immediately saw the strain on his face, felt the edge of pain leaking out from Spock’s control.

“Spock, it’s time.”

McCoy felt a tremor pass through Spock’s body, but he went to the cupboard and removed the hypospray. He fitted the canister of morphine to it and set the dose. He came back to the bed.

“The garden,” said McCoy, “please.”

Spock nodded. He went back to the cupboard and drew out a soft, nubby robe that he sometimes wore for meditation. He put it on McCoy and fastened it with a large pin. He carried him to the garden.

They were sitting as they had every day for the last two weeks, stretched out on the sun-warmed stone. Spock holding McCoy’s body against his own, hands touching.

He administered the hypospray.

Almost immediately, he felt the pain melt away. Now he concentrated on McCoy’s breathing and heartbeat.

He could still feel McCoy’s consciousness somewhere under the heavy fog of the drug. He followed his husband down.

[ _McCoy is sitting on a_ _wide pink_ _beach, h_ _ugging his knees to his chest. He looks much the way he did when Spock first met him, and he is wearing his old satiny blue medical tunic. He turns to Spock and grins._

“ _Check this out,” he says, patting the sand next to him. Spock sits and looks out to the sea._

_It is as blue as a summer sky, although the sky above is dark. The water glitters with tiny lights._

“ _Look up,” says McCoy._

_Whales made of stars glide majestically overhead._

“ _I think I’m beginning to see where the Romantic poets were coming from,” says McCoy. “Jim would be so proud.” He picks up a mint julep from nowhere and takes a sip._

_He lays his head on Spock’s shoulder._

_Spock recites,“Two souls with but a single thought, Two hearts that beat as one.”_

“ _Byron?”_

“ _Keats.”_

_McCoy rolls his eyes._

“ _You neglected to tell me something about the ritual, Spock. For it to work you’re supposed to refrain from taking another mate.”_

_Spock should have known that McCoy would know how to seek out information here._

“ _It is immaterial.”_

“ _It’s your choice. I just… You’re not hoping to die at_ pon farr _, are you?”_

“ _I promised you already that I will live. Do you sense that I am telling less than the truth?” asks Spock._

“ _No. Sorry. I’ll stop worrying now,”_

“ _You’ll never stop worrying until you stop breath--,” says Spock. “Let me have your_ katra _.”_

“ _I can’t.”_

“ _Please.” Spock’s voice breaks. He doesn’t want to do this to McCoy, but he can’t stop his thoughts from being expressed. The connection is too deep. His control is stretched too thin._

_Spock says, “I shouldn’t have followed you.”_

“ _Your heart was in the right place.” He pokes gently at Spock’s lower ribs._

_Spock hiccups something between a sob and a laugh._

_McCoy kneels facing Spock and pulls him into his arms. He holds him tight and whispers, “It’s alright. You’re allowed to hate this and to grieve and to wish me back. I would do the same in your place.”_

_He cups Spock’s face in his hands and kisses him, deeply and tenderly. “Listen, you can’t stay. You have to go now.”_

_Spock swallows. “No.”_

_But McCoy knows it’s just an impulse. Spock will go._

“ _I don’t know where I’m going, Spock, but wherever I am, I’ll love you.”_

“ _No. Don’t go.”_

“ _Remember your promise.” He kisses Spock one last time._

_warm and_

_soft and_

_sweet_ ]

When Spock opened his eyes, he was in the courtyard. McCoy’s breathing was shallow, barely existent.

Spock sat there, holding his husband, listening to his last gentle breaths until there was nothing left to hear.

Then he dried his eyes and carried McCoy’s body back to their bedroom.


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In space, one has so many strange and mysterious encounters that even a Vulcan learns to just roll with it sometimes.

“I believe that this is an unwise decision, Ambassador. I don’t see the logic in it,” said N’oora.

“Unfortunately, your teacher is not a person of pure logic,” said Spock as he topped up the oil in his meditation lamp. “Although if I were, I may still have chosen the same path. It is not uncommon for the _kolinahr_ masters to choose meditation during _pon far_ _r_.”

Together, they walked down the long underground corridor that led from the storeroom to the sleeping chambers that housed those members of the cell that could no longer show themselves above ground safely.

“If they find that they cannot control the _plak tow_ ,” said N’oora, “they make the logical choice to copulate. There are many here who would volunteer to fill that role for you, myself included.”

“I am honored by your offer, N’oora. None of you are trained in preventing the mating bond, however, and even if such a one were available, I have vowed to take no partner during _pon fa_ _r_ _r_.”

“As you wish. I shall make no further attempt to dissuade you. No doubt I have already crossed the line of Vulcan decorum by even raising the subject.”

“You have,” agreed Spock. “But you are not a person of pure logic either, and I do not expect you to respond as a Vulcan would in every situation.” He didn’t exactly smile at her, but his eyes may have crinkled at the corners just a bit. “Your reasons for voicing your objection may be sentimental, but you are correct in your assessment that my reasons are also sentimental. I have no defense except to say that I too must sometimes act in ways that a Vulcan would not.”

“Very well, Ambassador,” she said. “I shall safeguard your privacy. No one shall approach your chamber during your… meditations.”

“Thank you, N’oora,” said Spock. They had reached his chamber, the last one at the end of the tunnel. Spock nodded at her before going in and closing the door.

He had already prepared a space for meditation. He had placed a thick mat on the floor next to his bed. Caves on Romulus were colder than those on Vulcan. Next to the mat was a short table with a jug of water and a few travel rations. He didn’t expect to have any appetite during the coming ordeal, but if he did, eating something would give him strength, and it certainly wouldn’t do to become dehydrated. He set his lamp down in front of the mat.

He removed a soft, loose robe from a hook on the wall and changed into it. It was more comfortable than the stiff Romulan garments that he usually wore now, and he preferred it when meditating. He lit the lamp and seated himself behind it.

He could feel the fever becoming worse.

He took several deep, cleansing breaths and checked his posture. He fell easily into the quiet space in his mind, then back out of it as he registered surprise at not needing to resort to some complex recitation. He shook his head. He had many days of the _plak tow_ ahead of him. He didn’t mind saving some tricks for later.

He reentered the meditative state. He made a careful inventory of all of his body’s responses to the chemicals surging through his brain, correcting his respiration and heartbeat, relaxing muscles that he had unconsciously tightened. He lowered his eyelids, allowing the flickering light of the lamp to fill his vision, and...

“Hey, Spock. How the hell’d you end up on Romulus?”

Spock’s eyes snapped open. There, on the other side of the lamp, sat McCoy.

He appeared much as he had when he’d begun teaching at the Academy – there were crow’s feet near his eyes and silver hair at his temples. He was wearing the ceremonial robes of a bridegroom at _pon farr_.

“I’d like to say that I’m real, Spock, but then I’m afraid we’d have to get into a long discussion about the nature of reality. It’s not how I want to spend my time here. Let’s just say I’m me, and I’m not a figment of your imagination and leave it at that.”

Spock closed his eyes. “Hydrogen. One point zero zero seven nine four. Helium. Four point zero zero...”

“Oh god. Not this again.”

Spock peeked. McCoy was rolling his eyes.

“...two six. Lithium. Six point...

“Enough.” McCoy’s voice was gentle. He held out his right hand, the first two fingers extended. “As it was in the dawn of our days, as it will be for _all_ tomorrows, to you, my husband, I consecrate all that I am.”

Feeling chagrined that it had taken no more than fifteen minutes of suffering the _plak tow_ to break his mind, Spock raised his own hand, first two fingers extended and touched McCoy’s fingers. They weren’t solid, but he felt some… resistance there.

McCoy raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Spock sighed. “Leonard, my husband, from you I receive all that I am.”

“As it was in the beginning, so shall it be now.”

“Two bodies [ _really?_ ] [ _don’t think so hard_ ], one mind.”

McCoy’s fingers were very solid now – warm and strong and stroking Spock’s in a way that McCoy knew to be quite thrilling anytime, but particularly during _pon farr_.

“Blow out the lamp, Spock,” said McCoy. “We don’t want any conflagrations.”

Spock leaned forward and blew out the tiny flame. When he looked back up, they were seated on the shaggy black cover of a bed in a _pon farr_ chamber at Mount Seleya. Hundreds of tiny flames flickered around them, and McCoy was leaning in for a kiss.

McCoy was still touching Spock’s hand, fingers entwined, thumb stroking Spock’s palm. Spock thought he could almost hear the nerves humming in his wrist as sensation raced from his pleasured hand to his brain.

Then McCoy’s mouth met his.

[ _cool and sweet and wet_ ]

And Spock _knew_ this was McCoy. He knew it in his muscles and bones, in his _katra_. Whatever had flown away four years ago, leaving him holding nothing but an empty container in the shape of his husband, was here, in his arms, kissing him, and pressing him back onto a bed on Vulcan.

“How?” asked Spock when McCoy left off kissing him long enough suck his earlobe.

“How d’you think?” asked McCoy. Spock shivered at the feeling of warm breath in his ear.

“The ritual?”

“That’d be my guess.”

“But --” Spock’s ability to form coherent thought was obliterated as he realized that McCoy had managed to insinuate his free hand into Spock’s robe.

How this was happening seemed to be of no concern next to the fact that it was, indeed, happening. McCoy’s body was lying on his, the familiar solid weight bearing down on him. McCoy’s mouth was pressed to Spock’s, sucking and licking at his lips and his tongue. One of McCoy hands gripped Spock’s tightly, knuckles white. The other was inside his garment, against his hungry skin, working its way down to his cock.

“This first one’s going to be quick,” said McCoy.

Spock’s free hand scrabbled at the closures of McCoy’s robe. “I need --”

“I know,” said McCoy. Spock’s hand touched bare skin. He had a moment to register that they were nude before McCoy’s hand reached his penis.

[ _the slow strong pulse of McCoy’s cock as he holds them both in the grip of those sensitive fingers and strokes up then down smearing wetness along their lengths_

_stars shatter_

_hearts break open_

_light falls and spills and floods them_

_and they are happy_ ]

For a few moments, there was no sound but their ragged breathing. McCoy lay collapsed on top of Spock. Spock stroked a line down the well-known bumps of his spine.

“How are we naked, Doctor?”

“Going to try some complete sentences now, are we?”

[ _these old intimacies tug at him_

_the sound of McCoy’s dry chuckle_

_staccato breaths against his skin_

_stomachs slick with their emissions_ ]

“Well, to sort of answer your question,” said McCoy. “This is a liminal space. Nothing here is real except our _katras_ – or everything here is as real as our _katras_ – depending on how you want to look at it.”

They were lying in a large bed made up with crisp white linens. The room was simple – dark wood beams and walls that were mostly windows open to the warm breeze that blew across the white bed-hangings. Spock recognized it as the resort that they would stay at when visiting Gracie in Maui.

“How did this space come to exist?” asked Spock.

“I think we did it,” said McCoy.

They were floating, warm and wet, on a sea of stars. McCoy pulled the hand he still held in his own toward his mouth. He kissed the tips of Spock’s first three fingers. “Concept, discipline, process. How many times did we dream this place into being? We created it and filled it with memory, and emotion, and thought. Or that’s my guess, anyway. All I really know is that I felt you, felt the _plak tow_ , and I followed that until I was here, and here’s not where I was and it’s not where you were. Though I guess it must touch both places.”

Spock’s mind went over the vast body of research that he had read about _katras_ and death rituals over the years. He wondered if some of the works on ark sharing had really been describing this phenomenon.

McCoy unwrapped Spock’s first finger from around the tangle of their hands and licked it from the point where it joined Spock’s palm to the tip.

“It’s a gift, Spock.”

He took the second finger into his mouth and sucked it briefly.

“You can analyze it all you want later.”

He took the third finger and gently nibbled at the fleshy bits between Spock’s knuckles.

“For now, enjoy it.” [ _this is finite, would that it weren’t_ ]

McCoy began to lick and suck Spock’s fingers in earnest now. The sensation was similar to the ritualized finger stroking they had engaged in a few minutes ago, but wetter, messier, exponentially more sensual.

More white linens, but this time they lay, cool and dry, in their bed in the Marin County apartment. It was nighttime and rain fell against the bedroom window.

McCoy sat up, straddling Spock’s waist. His eyes never left Spock’s face as he removed the fingers from his mouth and guided Spock’s hand behind his body. Spock stared back, drinking in the sight of McCoy above him, the signs of age still light on his body – muscles still strong and lithe, hair still mostly dark, and skin only beginning to lose elasticity. McCoy looked worn-in, comfortable, and… sexy.

[ _the joy of skill and mastery_

_the melody so well practiced that improvisation becomes nearly effortless_

_harmony becomes second nature_ ]

Spock slipped a finger inside McCoy’s body, watching as McCoy’s lips parted, as his back arched slightly so that he could push against Spock’s hand. Spock held his breath as he added a second finger to the first, pressing McCoy open, listening to his healthy lungs as they drew in deeper, rougher breaths. McCoy’s palms were on Spock’s chest rubbing against his nipples. Spock slid the third finger in, still wet from McCoy’s mouth. McCoy’s eyes finally closed, and his breathing turned to vocalizations – small cries, almost like but clearly not pain.

McCoy leaned forward and kissed Spock. [ _sultry and_ _insistent_ ]

“Now, Spock. Now, please.”

Spock’s hand reached automatically for the bedside drawer. He had the lubricant uncapped before he realized that it probably didn’t matter here. He put a portion of it in his palm anyway. A wise man once said it’s the journey, not the destination. He slicked his cock, placed his hand on McCoy’s hip and guided him down until the tip was inside McCoy’s [ _warm snug yielding_ ] body.

McCoy moved back, driving Spock’s penis into himself as far as it would go. [ _sheathed penetrated held_ ]

“I don’t think this one’s going to be a marathon either,” said McCoy, moving forward and back again a little clumsily. “I’m… oh...”

[ _the walls fall away, but instead of the rainy California night, they are surrounded_ _by soft inky darkness_

_and music clear and ringing_

_notes that vibrate through them, their cadence slow and deep_ ]

Spock put his hands on McCoy’s hips, guiding his body in the same unhurried rhythm.

[ _one star, two, then three_

 _breathe beloved and feel_ ]

McCoy moved steadily to the music now, and Spock’s hands drifted over his skin, stroking his back, cupping his scapulae, kneading the flesh of his thighs and ass. McCoy buried his fingers in Spock’s [ _cool smooth_ ] hair, and kissed his mouth and jaw, his throat and ears. His other hand rested over Spock’s heart.

[ _stars flicker on_

_filling the sky with light, with order_

_it is breathtaking in its immensity and beauty_

_they have made these stars –_

_they are made of the_ _se_ _stars_ ]

Spock watched McCoy, observing all of the familiar responses – his pupils were dark and wide, his mouth swollen, his heartbeat strong and quick. His cock was hard, the tip extended beyond the foreskin and shiny with pre-ejaculate. A pink flush was creeping over his chest and throat. Spock took it all in – every tiny nuance and detail. It was fascinating that a body that didn’t technically exist could be so overwhelmingly real. He would analyze it – every last bit of it – because it was, indeed, a gift.

One that he was grateful for.

[ _light and music swirl around them_

_insistent, unresolved_

_building_ ]

Spock pulled McCoy’s body closer and rolled them over until he was kneeling on the bed with McCoy’s ass on his lap. McCoy laughed and canted his hips at just the right angle for what was coming next. Spock was more than happy to accept this invitation. He drove into McCoy’s body, gliding over the sensitive nerves of McCoy’s prostate, gasping as he was caught in the waves of pleasure flowing from McCoy’s mind.

[ _the music is nearly frantic_

 _a_ _r_ _ching, stretching_ _toward climax_ ]

Spock tightened the arm he had around McCoy’s waist and, hips keeping tempo with the melody in his mind, he brought them both to the edge.

[ _they fall free through heaven, spinning_

_kissing_

_smiling into each others’ mouth_

_and the waves reach up to catch them_

_receptive and chaotic_

_welcoming them home_ ]

They came to themselves tangled together on their old bed in Marin County, the rain once again falling outside their window. Spock was lying on McCoy, listening to his heartbeat and reveling in the sensation of being petted.

“Like a _sehlat_?” asked McCoy.

Spock made a little humming noise that sounded like agreement.

McCoy’s hand strayed to Spock’s ear. He lazily traced the graceful curve of it from lobe to tip and back again.

Spock shifted slightly, easing the pressure on his erection. As anomalous as this experience might be, it was still very much _pon farr_. They weren’t quite finished yet. It occurred to Spock to wonder what would happen when they were.

“How long will this last?” he asked.

“ _Pon farr_?” asked McCoy a moment before he saw the true question in Spock’s mind. “Oh. How long can we stay here? I’m not sure, but I don’t think I’ll disappear just because we achieve detumescence.”

“But you don’t know.”

“No, I don’t know. But this place is somewhere in between. It draws from both of our realities, and the place where I’ve been is pretty… kind.

[ _peace_

_the boy runs_

_cookies on the sill_

_she rocks and sings_

“ _what are you doing here?”_

_the boy sleeps_

“ _parenting”_

 _they talk and talk through the night_ ]

Spock lifted his head and looked at McCoy.

“You have no frame of reference,” he said, sitting up. “Come on, I want a shower. I’ll tell you what I can while you scrub my back.”

McCoy got out of the bed and headed toward the bathroom. Spock could think of better ways to engage with McCoy’s back, but his body was demanding to know why his mate was walking away and why he wasn’t following.

When Spock entered the bathroom, McCoy was already standing under the spray, his eyes closed in bliss, his penis standing out from his body and bobbing slightly under the force of the water. Spock found water showers pleasant enough, but he could never quite reach McCoy’s level of ecstasy at having hot water poured over him. The _plak tow_ argued that anything involving McCoy and his obviously aroused body was worth exploring.

Spock stepped into the enclosure and picked up the scrubber. McCoy opened his [ _sky blue_ ] eyes. He smiled. “You always notice that.”

“It is a remarkable color, Doctor,” said Spock, moving closer to McCoy. “And I have been remarkably privileged to view it from such an abbreviated distance over the span of our association.” He tipped McCoy’s chin up slightly and kissed him, licking softly inside his mouth.

[ _longing_ ]

Spock broke the kiss. “Your back,” he reminded McCoy, holding up the scrubber. McCoy grinned and turned around. Spock started fulfilling his part of the bargain.

After a few moments, McCoy spoke. “I wasn’t kidding. I really can’t say much that would make sense. As I understand it, the experience is pretty subjective. I think the point is to understand the life you lead, and maybe to help someone else do the same. The only constant I know of is that all souls gain wisdom there. For some, that brings peace. For others, it hurts. But there’s nothing inherently painful or frightening there. I believe that it’s temporary, but I have no idea what comes after or how long it takes. Time doesn’t mean much.”

McCoy was silent, enjoying the sensation as Spock worked his way down his back.

[ _lower_ ]

[ _patience_ ]

McCoy cleared his throat.

“I think about you. I wonder how you’re doing and what you’re up to. I wonder if you’re lonely. I wonder if you think about me, and if that makes you happy or sad.

“I had no idea that this would happen – that I’d be drawn here for _pon farr_ – but I’m glad it did.”

Spock had continued his work with the rough sponge, down over the swell of McCoy’s buttocks, and briefly giving a couple of swipes to the back of each leg. Spock was crouching now on the floor of the shower. He laid his hands on McCoy’s hips and turned him slightly so that his back was to the tiled bench.

“Sit,” said Spock. McCoy did so, gasping slightly when he felt a cushion covered in standard, Starfleet-issue upholstery fabric against his backside. He was sitting in their old window seat on the _Enterprise_.

Spock knelt in front of McCoy, between his legs, his fingers circling McCoy’s ankles. He stroked up to McCoy’s knees, then down again, ruffling the hair. He repeated this motion twice more before speaking.

“Sometimes, when I first arrived on Romulus, I would forget, just for a fraction of a second, that I am not on one of my old missions. My mind would wander to our home in Marin County, and I was warmed by the thought of returning to you there.”

“That explains it. I wasn’t thinking of the apartment at all.”

“Just once, I wanted it to be true.” Spock’s hands were now stroking McCoy’s thighs, knee to hip and back again. McCoy spread his legs a little further. Spock obliged him by rubbing his thumbs over the crease of McCoy’s groin.

[ _sorrow and love and want_ ]

“And why are we here now?” asked McCoy.

“In those years, when I was often traveling far from you, I would sometimes… attempt to... ease my loneliness, or at least, the most immediate symptom of it.”

[ _amusement and lust_ ]

“I, ah, I did that a fair bit myself,” said McCoy.

“I would close my eyes and picture myself floating among the stars. I would see the window into our old quarters on the _Enterprise_ , see you here, on this seat. I would imagine you, thinking of me and touching yourself.”

[ _McCoy lies on the bench, legs slightly bent, toes curling into the cushion_

_his arm is flung above his head, his eyes are closed, his nipples are pink and stiff_

_he bites his lip and imagines that it is Spock’s teeth pressing into that flesh_

_his other hand grasps his cock_ ]

“Like this?” asked McCoy. He closed his hand over his penis and pushed slowly down. Spock watched as the slick, purple head emerged from McCoy’s fist.

He swallowed. “Yes.”

McCoy tipped his cock toward Spock’s mouth, stopping a breath away from Spock’s lips. Spock pressed a kiss to the head, then licked his lips and took it into his mouth.

[ _plush and warm and sweet and salt_ ]

Spock held McCoy’s shaft in his hand, grasped it, tilted it this way and that in order to place kisses along the underside or to lick the slick skin of the frenulum or to simply take it in his mouth and suck.

[ _pleasure like thick liquid light pours through him in waves as though Spock is sucking it through his body_

_he risks opening his eyes to look_

_it is as profoundly erotic as he’d feared_ ]

Spock could feel McCoy watching. He felt McCoy’s hands on his head, cradling the back of his skull in one hand and his jaw in the other. His thumb stroked Spock’s cheek and along his mouth where it encircled McCoy’s cock.

[ _tenderness and desire_ ]

Feeling nearly intoxicated with the emotions and sensations flowing between them, Spock pushed his palms against McCoy’s inner thighs, sliding his thumbs under his testicles until he could press them against McCoy’s perineum.

He took McCoy’s cock into his throat and swallowed.

[ _their orgasm rolls through them_ _heavy_ _and sweet_

 _a slow wave_ ]

McCoy slid from the seat and into Spock’s arms. They knelt there for a moment, just holding each other. When Spock looked up from the crook of McCoy’s neck, he saw the tiny lamps of the chamber at Mount Seleya. He lay down, pulling McCoy with him and covered them both with the shaggy black blanket.

Just as the lethargy that inevitably followed the resolution of the _plak tow_ overtook them, McCoy stretched up and kissed the tip of Spock’s ear. “I love you, Spock,” he whispered, “always.”

 

Spock was surprised to wake and find the tiny flames still around him and McCoy still in his arms. He was lying halfway on top of Spock’s chest, one arm and a leg thrown over Spock’s body. From the stretching of these limbs and the fluttering of McCoy’s lashes against his sternum, he surmised that McCoy was waking as well. Spock tightened his hold on McCoy and kissed the top of his head.

“Mmf. Morning,” said McCoy, briefly nuzzling Spock’s right pectoral muscle.

“’Morning’ is possibly the most meaningless word you could have chosen, Doctor,” replied Spock. “It is night or day here according to our whims, and we are currently in a cave where we cannot discern the hour anyway.”

“Remind me why I married you?”

“You find me entertaining.”

“That must be it.” McCoy shifted so that he could look at Spock’s face. They kissed.

[ _soft warm sweet_ ]

“Do you wish for a bath?” asked Spock.

“In a bit. I think this is the first time I’ve woken up here and not been a sticky mess. It’s cozy.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s warm, soft, comfortable, intimate. It smells good. I’m not hungry. I don’t need to pee. I have everything right here. So, unless you need something...”

“I, too, have no needs that cannot be met in this bed.”

“Good. Then talk to me. Tell me what’s been going on. Why are you on Romulus? You made it sound like you’ve been there awhile.”

Spock took a breath deep enough to almost qualify as a sigh. He ignored his impulse, born of life-long habit, to avoid any type of accounting or confession, and cast his thoughts back to a time he would rather not contemplate. This was Leonard McCoy, after all.

“I received an invitation from Senator Pardek of Romulus a few days after… after you died.”

[ _he has made promise_ _s_ _, but it is difficult to remember how to breathe, let alone where to start_

_Pardek’s message is a lifeline, a thread he can untangle and follow_

_he has no idea where it will lead, but at least he finds that he cares_ ]

“An invitation to what?” asked McCoy, guiding Spock back to simple recitation of the facts.

“An invitation to be a pawn in yet another Romulan plot to seize Vulcan, although he didn’t exactly word it that way.”

McCoy snorted. “I imagine not.”

“We have long had intelligence of an underground movement of Romulans seeking to follow the teachings of Surak. Pardek offered to put me in contact with them, as well as with a member of the Senate he felt could be converted to Vulcan logic. It was a trap, of course, although I entertained the idea that it might not be at the time.

“I discussed my plans with no one, and the Federation assumed that I had defected. They sent Jean-Luc Picard to ascertain my whereabouts and my motives, and to fetch me back, if possible. It was he and his crew who discovered the plot.

“Afterward, I decided to stay. The people here are eager to learn the lessons contained in the _Kir’Shara_. I… felt… _called_ to be their teacher.”

[ _it is the same voice that told him to join Starfleet, to mentor, to become an ambassador_

 _listening to that voice is illogical perhaps, but it has not led him astray, so he heeds it once more_ ]

“And you’ve just been living, literally underground, on Romulus since then? Like some kind of inverted mountain-top mystic, patiently explaining Vulcan philosophy to a bunch of Romulan seekers?”

“More or less.”

McCoy’s expression was one that McCoy would have described as “mightily amused.”

“You do not think the role suits me?” asked Spock.

“Oh no. No, I think it suits you fine. I told you once to do whatever you had to do in order to not fall into despair. I wasn’t picturing this, but it works. You have a cause to care about. You have _people_ to care about. You seem… fulfilled, and I’m happy for you. I’m just having a hard time picturing you leading a quiet and retired life is all.”

“There are moments of… adventure,” said Spock. “We aided Vice-Proconsul M’ret in his defection to the Federation.”

“Okay,” said McCoy. “That does sound adventurous.”

“I believe Deanna Troi found it to be so.”

“Oh, I want to hear this. Regale me.”

So Spock told him the story. He told him about his students and N’oora. They talked about events in the quadrant – the coming of the Borg, Cardassia’s withdrawal from Bajor and the opening of a stable wormhole into the Gamma Quadrant, the possibility of war with the Dominion, and even rumors that Romulus had provisionally allowed the Federation access to their cloaking technology.

They made love again.

[ _tender and slow, they touch every centimeter of skin, they collect every sound every sentiment_

_they call down stars_

_they float_

pon farr _is a profound experience but Spock has always preferred making love with McCoy for its own sake_ ]

Eventually, they found themselves in the bath. McCoy sat against the edge of the tub with Spock between his legs, reclining against his chest.

They both sensed that their time together was winding down.

“What happened with Sarek?” asked McCoy. His voice was soft, and Spock knew that he sensed the pain and wanted to know the cause.

“I went to see him early in the morning. Perrin had mentioned that he still went to the courtyard to sit at that time of the day. It was the morning after your death.”

[ _Sarek was there, in body anyway._

_“Did you come to apologize?” asks Sarek._

_“Yes,” says Spock._

_“You humiliated me in public and now you come to beg forgiveness in private?”_

_“Father...”_

_“No! Get out!”_ ]

“I did not wish to upset him further. I sent a communication to Perrin, letting her know of your demise and the arrangements for your funeral.”

“Spock.” McCoy stroked Spock’s arms.

“I could not even be certain that he knew who he was addressing. He was angry with his aide, Sakkath, as well.”

[ _all of his life he has seen his father cold and aloof, withholding praise, demanding obedience_

_but never angry, never raising his voice, never telling him to leave_

_they had come so far, he had finally earned Sarek’s respect_

_when he accused him of emotionalism in the office of the Federation President, had that been the disease?_

_or had the disease just allowed him to say what had been in his mind all along?_ ]

Spock could feel McCoy waiting, listening. He could feel the ache of McCoy’s empathy.

“When my father completed negotiations with the Legarans on board the _Enterprise_ , he was already very ill. I had assumed that Sakkath had aided him in keeping his emotions suppressed, but I later discovered that his disease had progressed so far that it was beyond Sakkath’s ability to do so. Instead, my father chose to meld his mind with Captain Picard’s – diverting his emotions to Picard’s mind, while using Picard’s emotional control to bolster his own. They were melded for over an hour. It is not possible to be so deeply linked to another mind for such an extended period without… some transference of one’s self.

“When Picard came here to demand that I account for my actions, he offered to allow me to also meld with him – to see that which my father had left behind.

“I accepted his offer.”

[ _Sarek watches his son and his wife. They practice mind touch. He is concerned that they do so too_ _often_ _. He decides to speak to her of it. She refuses to deny Spock. If he wants this, she will allow it._ _She thinks that Sarek is mistaken to not allow it himself._

_Sarek allowed Sybok to touch his mind. He fears making the same mistakes again. He fears that it was his own eccentricity that caused Sybok to err – to embrace and then to follow his passions._

_Spock stops requesting mind touch of his own accord. He is becoming socialized by the other students at the Learning Center. He withdraws from Amanda._

_Sarek’s heart breaks to feel her sadness._

_The doctors tell him that the child’s mesiofrontal cortex is underdeveloped – that it may never develop properly._

_His child struggles to govern himself. He is willful, secretive, passionate._

_And Sarek fears for him even as he feels admiration for this fierce child. He encourages him to exercise his mind and to suppress his heart._

_In the end, Sarek watches his second son walk away as well – not banished by the High Council, but by his own rebellious nature._

_It is years before Sarek understands the mistakes he made with Spock. Spock dies before Sarek can correct those mistakes. Sarek does not let years pass again._

_He reaches out. He acknowledges the wisdom of Spock’s choices – his career, his friends, his husband whose fierceness matches Spock’s own._

_A_ _nd he feels comforted. And he is grateful for the emotion._ ]

“He did not die hating me. However, he might have died thinking that I hated him.”

“Spock, you don’t know that. You yourself said that you weren’t sure who Sarek thought he was speaking to. If the Bendii Syndrome had progressed that far, you can’t even be sure he remembered the conversation at all.”

“But he remembered what happened in the President’s Council. He kept rebuking me, accusing me of emotionalism. I couldn’t understand it at the time. I questioned his compassion. He could not have been unaware of my bewilderment and anger.”

“Is that what you saw in Picard’s head?”

Spock shook his head. “I saw only regret and affection, and I can’t know if that regret was for our old arguments or the more recent one.”

“I’m sorry, Spock.”

“It is I who should apologize, Doctor. Our time is drawing to a close and I have burdened you.”

[ _your sorrows are my sorrows_ ]

“This’s what I signed up for,” said McCoy.

“Until death did us part,” said Spock.

“It sure ain’t done a good job of parting us yet. And you asked me over and over if I was sure about the ritual, so I guess I signed up to share your burdens even in my afterlife. I just wish I had answers for you.”

“It is enough to have had the opportunity to show you these things.”

[ _your kindness is always a comfort to me_ ]

Spock stood up and pulled McCoy up too.

“I have one other request before you go,” said Spock.

“Alright, what is it?”

They stood in the courtyard garden. Spock was dressed in one of his black Vulcan outfits and McCoy wore a deep blue suit.

Spock kissed McCoy. [ _tenderness affection gratitude_ ]

“Will you sing for me, husband?”

McCoy grinned. “Of course I will. Any requests?”

“No, sing whatever pleases you.”

McCoy led Spock back to the bench. They sat side-by-side and McCoy took Spock’s hand.

“ _Shadows are fallin’ and I’m runnin’ out of breath_  
_Keep me in your heart for a while._  
_If I leave you it doesn’t mean I love you any less_  
_Keep me in your heart for a while..._ ”

Spock let McCoy’s voice wash over him. He was still so enamored of this talent and the man who possessed it. He had found a relatively peaceful life on Romulus, but it was nothing compared to the bone-deep sense of well-being that being with McCoy had brought.

[ _he is aware of the miracle of their meeting_ _–_ _children of separate worlds_ _–_ _a point_ _in time_ _, a chance that m_ _ight_ _not have occurred_

_but they do meet, they create something between them, something strong and lasting and resilient, stacking one miracle on top of another_

_that they have, by chance, created another one should_ _not be so remarkable by now_ ]

It was getting dark, but Spock could see that the sun was not setting. This place where they could be together was fading. McCoy could see it too.

“Listen, Spock. If I don’t get to see you again… I mean barring some unforeseen circumstance, I expect I’ll see you again at _pon farr_. But if I don’t, I want you to know that I will be there at the end, I promise.”

“How can you be certain?”

“I can’t say, but I am certain. You didn’t let me die alone, Spock. I won’t let you.”

McCoy kissed him.

[ _the barest whisper of pressure, a ghost kiss_ ]

“Next time,” said McCoy, “lay down and get comfy first. You’re not going to be any younger in seven years.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is Warren Zevon's [Keep Me in Your Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1KjRLq4uF4A%20)


End file.
